


Joy to the World

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Casual Sex, Depression, Disabled Character, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Murder, Natural Disasters, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Other, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Pegging, Polyamory, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Threesome, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-19 13:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 95,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11314065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: Fires will consume soon.Leave while you can.I heard Greenland is nice.Everything will be okay.This last message is sprawled across the front of the bakery, two suns for the dots of thei. Josh reads and believes the message.





	1. Run

**Author's Note:**

> after months of writing and three rewrites, it's finally here and… it's a little surreal. the original premise of this fic came to me in a dream, as do most of my story ideas, and i was _not_ going to let this run away from me. 
> 
> i'm still unsure of my update schedule. with my other multi-chapter fic ( _under a cherry tree_ ), i saw that as five oneshots, or a five-act narrative, rather than a singular story with five chapters. this, though… this is different for me. so, maybe i'll post once a week. maybe twice a week. 
> 
> i'll update the tags as i go along. 
> 
> hang in there. we'll get through this together.

The world ends as Josh's ex fucks him on the sofa.

Josh is sweating, his face beet-red, ass raised in the air and held by two calloused hands. Those hands used to be what kept Josh safe at night, a careful cradle to his stomach, an absent pat to his chest. Dreams were sweet, but now they're sour, and those hands are rough, and they smack, smack, smack against Josh's ass with each thrust forward. Josh is trying to get into a different headspace, trying to relocate to a time when he was in love, when he didn't mind cooing, "Adam, Adam, Adam," for the whole world to hear.

But the world is ending.

Adam doesn't notice the television, and frankly, Josh doesn't either. Adam's rocking into Josh, hips snapping and forming bruises. Josh holds onto a pillow and doesn't care that he feels himself dripping onto the cushions. It coats the insides of his thighs, as do several bite marks and scratches. Josh pushed Adam's head down and told him to stay. "There," Josh said, and then there was a nip and a tongue, and Josh felt as though he could come just from teeth and saliva.

Josh glances at the TV by accident. He's turning to grab the back of whatever thigh is within reach, and the headline catches his eye. It's bold, black, scary, and Josh doesn't understand. Fuzzy, vision blurry, stomach doing circles, Josh comes at the same moment he watches the reporters on screen frantically cut to commercial. Josh gasps, knuckles white, and Adam's cock shoves into Josh, full, deep, thick, and comes, twitching inside Josh, filling Josh as Josh shivers and pisses the couch.

The channel goes to static. Josh is still shivering by the time the dick slides out. He's struggling to stand, knees knocking together. "Fucking piss," Josh hears. Couch cushions flip. Josh feels no remorse.

"Whoa," he hears next, because Adam has found the remote and changed the channel to another news station. "What the fuck happened?"

The front window is open, curtains blowing, rustling. Josh can smell smoke, something sharper. He doesn't know what would happen if he stepped outside. People are running, screaming, but nothing seems out of place.

"God, look at how red your ass is, baby. Come over here. Lemme eat my come outta you."

Josh crawls, climbs, and he sits on Adam's face and watches more people yell and cry and run, run, run from the smoke.

He comes at the sight of a little boy tripping and busting his face on the sidewalk. The boy doesn't move.

Another smack to his ass, another "What the fuck happened?", Josh stands from the couch again, a little stronger than last time. On his phone, Adam scratches his head and furrows his brow. "They're fucking saying—what?"

The sky is dark. Josh asks, "Did they say what exactly happened?"

"Nah." Scratching again, there's yawning, shaking of the head. "So, what now? I think I'll be ready for another round in an hour."

Josh says, "I think I—"

"Whoa. They're saying, like, rolling blackouts or some shit? I don't know what's…"

"I'm tired. Can I sleep over?"

But Josh sees a bright phone screen. He remembers why they broke up. And then, Josh looks between those legs and remembers why he stuck around long after they ended their relationship.

"I'm going to bed."

Josh wakes to a knife against his throat.

"You reckon you could just leave me?" a whisper snakes into his ear. "I could fucking kill you right now, and nothing will happen to me. I'll hide your body. I'll say the river took you, the fires—whatever the hell is going on out there."

Josh closes his eyes.

"If the world's going to end, then we're going out together."

They fuck again, Josh riding Adam's cock and using the headboard as support. They're quick, rough, and Josh screams when he comes.

In the morning, if the smoke outside could be classified as morning, Josh tiptoes around the house. He finds a backpack and dumps clothes, non-perishable food, and Adam's iPod inside. Josh even takes the knife resting on the end table. It might prove useful yet.

After snatching Adam's wallet, and whatever he can fit into the bag's inside pocket from the not-so hidden compartment behind the bookshelf in the living room, Josh leaves. The air outside doesn't smell. He walks.

*

Josh sits in his apartment and watches the news and reads all he can. Conspiracy theories fly through the webs, some that seem outlandish, and then some that seem a little saner. Josh eats cereal and goes through blog posts that state the world as we know it is over. Too poetic, too fake deep, Josh finds it ridiculous, and then he looks out the window and watches a truck run over his neighbor.

There were no screams that time.

Josh rationalizes that it was an accident.

Adam calls him. Josh picks up, and Adam breathes.

"What?" Josh asks.

"Come over," Adam says, "and we'll fuck until another bomb drops."

"A bomb dropped?"

Josh can hear the eye roll. "Baby, what do you—never fucking mind. Doesn't matter what happened. We're gonna die. Come over, and I'll fuck your brains out."

The meaning of this statement is, most likely, literal.

Josh hangs up and blocks Adam's number.

On the TV, the latest headline is about an outbreak of wildfires out west. Josh shouldn't find it strange, since it's wildfire season, but he can't shake the feeling something is wrong.

Josh doesn't know if it's safe to leave his apartment. He calls his mom. She doesn't answer. He turns off his phone.

*

The girl across the hall visits Josh. Tears stick to her lower lashes. She's stopped wearing makeup.

"I think they shut off my power?" she says, and steps into Josh's apartment, where it's clothed in darkness. "Oh." She blinks. "They—"

"Yeah. It just went off, like, an hour ago."

At least they have water for now. Josh lights candles that smell of sugar cookies, and into the shower they go. Whole body humming, dripping wet, Josh kisses her and fucks her, and she fucks him and kisses him, and she comes all over Josh's fingers.

They carry the candles into Josh's bedroom, setting them on the bedside table and on the top of the dresser.

"They're saying there's a bunch of wildfires?" Josh stares at her.

She's nodding, then shrugging. "That's what I heard on Twitter. It's fucked up."

"Yeah."

Josh holds her while they sleep. She's still here in the morning. "I had a dream," she whispers. "My mom baked me a batch of cookies. They turned out to be poisoned."

He wants to kiss her, but doesn't. "Hey," he says, "do you think it's safer out there?"

Screams have been non-existent. The kids haven't made an appearance either, not even to trip and bust their face on the sidewalk.

She answers, "I don't know." She pulls on her clothes. "I thought about going out today. If I figure out how, I'll get word back to you and tell you how it is out there."

Josh closes his eyes and listens to her flats _pat-pat-pat_ toward the front door.

Later that day, toothbrush in his mouth, Josh peeks around the corner of his curtain and witnesses a murder.

A man has Josh's neighbor by her hair, twisting the bi-colored strands as her body is twisting like a pretzel. She's screaming. The screaming is back. It hurts Josh's ears. He watches.

She has a gun up her skirt, strapped to a thigh holster. Barrel under the guy's chin, the hesitation to fire is gone. Her finger pulls the trigger, his head flies, and she runs. Josh finishes brushing his teeth and decides to go to bed early.

*

Josh listens to helicopters. The electricity remains off.

He does crunches and masturbates to pass the time.

Adam's iPod finally dies after a week. Josh counts sixty bucks in the wallet and close to a thousand in the backpack. He chews on trail mix and fights the urge to check social media. No electricity, no charge, and who knows if there will be access to the Internet.

He tries calling his mom again from the landline, but all he gets is dial tone.

Josh starts doing push-ups. He can't have one bicep stronger than the other.

*

The mail stops arriving, and Josh finds his landlord dead with a knife in his head. Another knife stabs through a sheet of ripped notebook paper, this time in the chest. _Here's your fucking rent._

There is a packet of cigarettes and two lighters on his person. Josh takes them. He doesn't know why.

The building is in ruin. Neighbors evacuated the first chance they had, grabbing their children and their pets and running, running, running. Where would Josh be if he had run with them?

Out front, almost as some kind of barricade, stacks of dead bodies block the double-door entrance. Some are of children. Josh hates that the most.

He fills a smaller bag with two water bottles and old towels. A beanie covers his ears and muffles any sound that might prove to be unsavory. Moaning, for example, coming from either the dying or the loving. First thing he sees after jumping from the fire escape off the landlord's suite is fornication. The suite was ransacked, even the mattress sliced to pieces. Maybe there was money inside. Adam's money is still in Josh's other backpack, where it currently resides under a pile of dirty clothes in his closet.

The couple spread out on the gravel appears very out of touch with reality. On the bottom, a girl has her back scraping the pebbles and stones while the guy above her puts up a fight. She's beating him with bloody fists, and he's cursing and telling her to stop.

Hooked on his belt, the weight of Adam's knife is heavy. It's easy to pull it out, to bring it to the guy's throat and press, kiss, sigh.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he says, blue eyes wide. "We were just having fun."

Arms cut to hell, the girl hugs herself. Josh narrows his eyes. "She doesn't look like she was having fun." He can see himself bringing the knife across the guy's throat. He can see himself doing it with no remorse, but Josh shakes, and his knife cuts and scrapes the guy's skin with minimum pressure—paper cuts at best. "Just get o-outta here, dude."

The guy runs with a bloodied neck and no clothes. Josh wouldn't be surprised if he were to get frostbite before reaching his place of destination.

The girl bursts into tears and gratitude. "I need to get home. My mom, she, she—" Without even a pause to collect her bearings, the girl sprints. And Josh lets her.

The air outside is clean. All is quiet.

From one stretch of town to the other, the stores are all barred and looted. Windows busted, doors hanging from their hinges, the interiors are as if the buildings' main purpose were a dumpster. Josh goes through a grocery store, a little family-owned business, and finds the place in absolute disarray. The only remaining foods are generic vegetables in cans, leafy greens, and milk that has long since expired. Josh pokes around for bread and comes out empty-handed. He knows there was a bakery a few streets over, so he goes there next, just to see if they're in as much of a state of emergency.

Were they in a state of emergency? It's impossible to know.

Josh walks for ten minutes. Bleak, depressing, his city looks abandoned. He sees the stray stranger here and there, and they wave and exchange words—small talk about the weather. It isn't small talk now.

"So, fires?" Josh asks.

"That's what I heard," a girl says, big sweater and beanie on. "My family's scared it's coming up here next, so we're…" She shakes her head. "We're _emigrating_."

"That's what I heard, too," Josh says. Then, "The spreading," as clarification. "It's weird, right? I was online, and it's all this big conspiracy."

"Is it a conspiracy?" She cocks an eyebrow, a ring sliced through it. "What if Mother Nature is _pissed_ at us?"

Josh smiles. "We deserve it."

She invites Josh back to her place, and they fuck on the couch in the dark.

Another stranger, this one a person with two eyebrow rings, shares Josh's skepticism. "It's just the usual wildfires. It'll be over soon."

"Hope so."

Josh invites them back to his place, but the sight of dead bodies prevents them from going further into the building, so Josh drops his pants and lets them fuck him against cold brick and coat his thighs with their spunk. It's warm for a moment.

Josh walks around his city whenever he can. Eventually, the strangers—the likely lovers—on the sidewalks disappear, and graffiti on buildings appear.

_Fires will consume soon._

_Leave while you can._

_I heard Greenland is nice._

_Everything will be okay._

This last message is sprawled across the front of the bakery, two suns for the dots of the  _i_. Josh reads and believes the message.

A box of powdered donuts hides under an oven, kicked there during the initial ransacking. It doesn't particularly matter, since bakeries always cook fresh. If anyone were to loot this place, they would only leave with food poisoning.

This must be why Josh sits on the floor and drags out the box. Other than the obvious foot impressions, it's largely undisturbed. He eats the entirety, and though it makes him sick, it also makes him safe. His stomach is full, and that's a feeling Josh hasn't felt for quite some time. He's sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor of a bakery, white powder caught in the hair on his upper lip and chin, when a group of teenagers enters the room. They're dirty, tired, and Josh grabs at the knife in his belt loop, still stained in spots.

The teenagers have no weapons. They're just browsing.

"How long have you been out here?" one of them asks Josh.

Josh still lives at his apartment, or considers his apartment his home. He knows he should lie. "First time venturing outside. I've been holed up in my place for… since the start of whatever happened."

They don't believe Josh. "First time out, and you've already had to use that knife on some poor bastard?" Josh thinks this is the leader. He's smug, neck wrapped up in a red scarf.

"I swear. Just walked out and ran into him on some girl. He deserved it."

"So, rapists deserve death, but not murderers? Man, what type of world this is now…"

Josh stands too quickly, and the boy grabs him. Josh cuts the boy's hand, up his forearm, and runs. He takes the long way back to his apartment, too frightened of followers. He heard them scream for him on the way out, shouting profanity. Josh wonders if he had nicked a vein, and if the hospitals were the first places to fall. He quickly decides they must have been. They must have been.

*

Another neighbor knocks on Josh's door as soon as he makes it back. He watched Josh from down the hall, mismatched clothes and a stud on his lip. "Hey," he says, when the door opens. "How is it like out there?"

Josh pulls him inside. They don't have electricity, but they have water, and they shower, and he fucks Josh on the bathroom floor. The man's all skin and bones, uncomfortable when he presses his hips into Josh's ass. Josh, on the other hand, is bloated from the donuts. He imagines vomiting all down his front. Somehow the thought keeps him sane.

The guy spends the night and doesn't expect breakfast in the morning. "I think I'm gonna go out there today," he says. "See what's going on."

"There's nothing," Josh says.

"Do people…? Have they…? Have you killed anyone yet?" This question is directed at the knife on the kitchen counter, brown with dry blood.

Josh swallows. "N-no. Just nicked 'em," he says.

"Okay."

Josh is alone for the rest of the week. He's hungry. His mom still doesn't answer his calls.

*

Josh expected the world to be… different if it were to end. He expected deserts, ruins, dry and humid weather. Josh expected big guns and small guns and guns to be pointed at his face, at his head, at his legs, telling him to put his hands up, give us all your possessions, don't move or we'll kill you. But there wasn't any of that—not yet.

So, Josh learns to swallow his morals and steal, steal, steal. He's good at it now.

In all those stories, that was probably how it started: a lone person, pocketing a pistol they found in a vacant home, counting the bullets and closing their eyes as tightly as they could to remember what training they had at summer camp all those years ago.

*

Men break into his apartment and say it's only for the night. Josh lets them because they have guns.

Toothbrush in his mouth, too much water and not enough paste, he uses a flashlight with a heavy plastic handle to make sure he aims his spit in the sink. As he spits, the front door pops open, and the sound is almost comical in relation to saliva and toothpaste hitting old ceramic.

Josh peeks around the corner and watches the men poke through his living room, his kitchen, until one catches his eye and tells him to come forward. "We're not gonna bite."

The guns are out in the open. They handle them like a third arm, like nothing. Before Josh enters the living room, he slides his knife into the waistband of his boxers. It isn't ideal, but it'll have to do.

"Mind if we spend the night?" the same guy speaks. He's tall, faded green hair on his head. "Just need a place to crash."

"Sure."

Anxious, Josh excuses himself to dress in jeans, to stick his knife in a belt loop, out in the open. Despite this, his t-shirt is long, and he expects it would be a struggle if he were to need to use the knife. Still in his room, Josh practices drawing out the knife and brandishing it. It's stupid.

The men are smoking marijuana in the living room, guns on the coffee table, all three in a straight line. Nothing is out of place.

Green Hair points a finger at Josh after passing the joint to his friend. "So, you've just been living here, by yourself?"

"I've had visitors," Josh explains, "but they left to see what's out there."

"There's nothing out there," says a man with no eyebrows and a sharp chin.

"I know," says Josh. "I've looked for myself."

A beat of silence, Josh asks, "Do you guys know what happened? The news said fire, and my, uh, someone told me it was a bomb."

He's answered with shrugging shoulders and bewildered expressions. "Hell if I know," Green Hair says. "Do you put out?"

Josh goes to his room and falls asleep to laughter.

True to their word, the men leave in the morning.

"Do you have a gun?" the third, smaller man quips. He has on a big coat that looks warm. "Do you need a gun?"

"I don't like guns," Josh admits.

"But you have a weapon, right? You need a weapon."

"I have one."

The loneliness sets in at their departure. Josh never realized this until now.

*

Josh is trying to brush his teeth when his front door opens again. The faucet doesn't work; not even a single drip falls.

From here, Josh can hear rummaging, ransacking, the voices familiar. "He must have _something_ hidden," Green Hair says, unable to whisper. "Did you see him? He's gotta have a hold up somewhere."

Josh tiptoes into his bedroom. Last time he went outside, it had been chilly, and considering how dark it is currently, Josh knows the temperature must be low, maybe skimming the single digits. He finds an old pair of long johns in his bottom dresser drawer and slides them on before pulling on his skinny jeans. There are holes in the knees, but his first layer is black, sure to keep the body heat inside, he can only hope. Along with the long johns, Josh tugs on more layers on his torso than necessary. It's already getting hard to breathe. Josh ignores it. He zips up his coat and yanks his beanie on his head, over his curls, the hair he's lucky to have washed early this morning. The water is gone. No electricity, no water, Josh needs to leave, no matter the dangerous men in his apartment.

Josh finds his bag. Adam's money is inside, hidden at the bottom—Josh doesn't know if money is even needed in this new world. Along with that, Josh's phone and charger rests on towels, clothing, Adam's iPod, as well. Josh knows he needs to pack light, but he can't help but load it down with medicine from his bathroom cabinet, bandages, ointment, peroxide, and then some.

He's quiet as he does this, hurried, one-handed. His left holds the knife, just in case. The footsteps are getting closer. Josh tosses the flashlight inside the pouch, hearing it smash water bottles and crinkle the plastic. Akin to a car alarm, the men stop what they're doing. "Did you hear that?" Green Hair is whispering now. "Follow me."

Josh slings on his backpack. He lives on the third floor. If he were to leap out a window, he could twist, or even break, his ankle, and the men would catch him anyway. That leaves the front door. Josh's grip on the knife is tight. He needs to run. He knows he shouldn't run, but he needs to run.

He runs.

Green Hair is right around the corner, hands outstretched to grab Josh. And he grabs Josh. He touches Josh's chest, down to his waist, and he _screams_. The blade of Josh's knife is nestled in the meat of his bicep. Josh doesn't remember stabbing, but he pulls it out all the same and continues running.

The next guy, the one with no eyebrows, has his gun raised. Josh ducks and lunges at kneecaps. They both fall to the floor. Josh scrambles to his feet and runs. He can't breathe.

Looks are deceiving. The last guy is small, but the punch to Josh's face is shattering. Josh gasps, the guy hisses, and Josh snatches the knife from the carpet. He can't see out of his left eye. His cheek throbs. His mouth hurts. And Josh cuts coat fabric and the top layer of skin as he tries to run. He runs and runs and goes to his landlord's suite and climbs from the window and runs. Josh is crying. He can hear screaming. He can always hear screaming.

*

For the first night, Josh keeps to the janitor's closet at a community center off a park. The place is cramped and smells pleasantly of cleaning supplies. Somehow the claustrophobia is soothing, safe, and secure. Josh sleeps with a mop head as his pillow once he stops shivering.

*

He leaves at the sight of sun peeking under the door. Terribly cold, if Josh stands in the sun, he almost doesn't notice his teeth ache from chattering. Impossible to stay still, though; Josh doesn't want a bullet in his head.

He walks. He doesn't run because his chest hurts. Deep breathes do nothing. Cursing himself only helps a little.

But he walks.

He doesn't see anybody. He sees a cat, which scurries away when he takes a step toward it. It was skinny with orange fur.

Josh finds a bike at a gas station. The cement ground at each pump is stained, as if someone deliberately poured out each station until it dripped dry. For once in his life, Josh is thankful he doesn't know how to drive.

Before he deems it acceptable to steal the bike, he paces the aisles of the store. Debris, crushed bags of chips, register open, the place looks uninhabitable. Josh pulls a bag of Doritos from the back of the shelf and checks the expiration date. No regard for the numbers, Josh opens it and shoves handful after handful into his mouth. He's an animal. He's an animal.

"Hello?" he calls, yanking apart the doors of the freezers and wrapping his fingers around a lone Powerade. "Is there anybody here?" He takes a drink, lukewarm. "I'm going to take your bike." Then, quieter, "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Nothing, and Josh stashes the bottle into his bag. He stuffs three bags of M&M's into his coat before hopping onto the bike. This will be easier than running, he thinks, he _hopes_.

Josh makes it to the next town by nightfall. He's used to lights in buildings and crowds of people always bustling about the scene. And now, there's absolutely nothing. People have vanished and have been replaced by ghosts.

An unwise decision, but Josh spends the second night at someone's home. Door off its hinges, the couch overturned in the living room, the house appeared safe enough. To Josh, he reasons, the same group wouldn't hit the same place twice. He shakes his head after and realizes just how stupid he actually is; he concludes he's pretty fucking stupid.

Bike leaned against a wall in the hallway, Josh creeps into the first bedroom he finds. He doesn't get comfortable. He eats an entire pack of M&M's before he falls asleep.

*

He's running again by morning.

Two men find him on the bed. One is aggressive, pulling on Josh and touching zippers and buttons, while the other is charismatic. Josh plays white noise over and over in his head as he fights them. Punching, spitting, chomping down until he hears snapping, Josh doesn't pull out his knife. He's out of the house when he remembers he has a knife.

It doesn't matter. The sun is creeping along the horizon, and so Josh runs.

*

He runs until he begins to wheeze. He can't breathe unless his lips are parted. It would be hilarious if he had a cold.

Josh doesn't think about the present. He's always looking ahead, particularly to nighttime. Where is he going to sleep? When is he going to sleep?

Another bag of M&M's ripped open in his pocket, Josh finishes the last of his Powerade and shoves his way into a pharmacy with the same reassuring message as his hometown.

_Everything will be okay._

Josh eats his chocolate and aims his flashlight beam over each shelf. Makeup left behind, holiday decorations, tabloids, Josh knows pharmacies must be picked clean. He still walks toward the back, feet dragging, his breath coming out ragged.

He directs his flashlight to the empty shelves and promptly hears a scuffle, a "shit", and Josh says it, too, immediately switching off his flashlight and tugging out his knife. The pull out sends his M&M's flying from his pocket. Josh doesn't have enough time to hide when a person's face appears behind a shelf.

They had been crouching, but now they're standing, only the topmost half of their face visible. Brown eyes trained on Josh, they look terrified, as if they hadn't expected anyone to find them. For a brief moment, Josh thinks it's because there's another person there, too, and they're fucking, but no one else surfaces, and the initial person steps out from behind the front counter to show they are indeed clothed. Their clothing is a lot lighter than Josh's, which leads Josh to believe they're sleeping back there, using a heavier coat as a blanket. There's still a beanie on their head, pulled down to hide the slightest hint of eyebrows, and a sweat jacket hangs over their thin frame, along with a shirt with the word "they" on it. Josh smiles at that.

"Hey," they say.

"Hey," Josh says.

"W-w-what are you doing here?" They're picking apart their lips, eyes never wavering from Josh. "I, I… I mean, it's just that I haven't seen anyone for, u-uh, a long time."

It might have been a month. Josh lost count. Breathing is getting more difficult. He can't form words.

The person continues, "I thought you might h-have been, uh, one of those dead ones because of… the way you were walking."

Flashlight in one hand and knife in the other, arms raised like he's going to strike with each object, Josh furrows his brow and says, defeated, "Oh, so it's a _zombie_ apocalypse. That's just so fucking great. So, what? The fire carries some kind of virus?"

"No! No, I mean—shit—I haven't found—haven't met… I don't know if there are zombies. I'm sorry. It was, like, a _joke_." They rub their neck. "I don't really believe what they say on the news. I haven't seen any smoke. I just thought… _zombies_."

"I've seen the smoke. Thick, black. It vanished after everybody fucking left."

"Oh."

Josh scans the person. He sees dark jeans, holes in them to show gray leggings underneath—great minds think alike. Floral vans catch Josh's eyes, too, and they look brand new, never worn, which makes Josh think they must have been stolen recently.

The person slowly zips up their sweat jacket, too big to properly fit them. "There's nothing here, if that's what… you're doing here. I cleared out this place a few weeks ago, right when shit hit the fan. It doesn't hurt to come back, y'know? Supposed to get more medicine, but all I found was batteries. That wasn't my job, though, b-but whatever." They're shivering and tugging on the sleeves of their jacket to cover their hands. "I still took them. I'll keep the fucking batteries."

"I don't know why I'm here," Josh says. "I saw the graffiti and thought I should check out what's inside." He's shaking, too, unable to catch his breath. "W-wait, does that mean you're not alone?"

They freeze, blink. "What?"

"You said your job was to get medicine. That must mean—"

"Yeah, okay." They turn on their heel and walk around the counter. Josh takes a step forward, but does not follow. "I'm with this group. Just a few people who were on my floor at my apartment, and then some others."

"Lucky." Josh snorts. "All my neighbors left after we…" He doesn't finish. It doesn't matter.

"If you want to come with me, I think we'll be able to make it there before it gets dark." They're shrugging on a big winter coat, wrapping a striped scarf around their neck. The length is tremendous, protecting their nose and mouth from the chill, and the color is ridiculous—made up of browns, purples, grays, yellows, reds, and greens. "If you want to come with me," they repeat, pushing their arms through the straps of a backpack now. Bottles rattle inside. Josh gives a lingering look to the shelves behind them.

"Lemme just… Gimme a few."

"Okay."

Feeling safe enough to do so, Josh slides his knife into his belt loop and flips on his flashlight. The counter space is clear, and the floor behind it is clear, too, a human-sized cubby beneath a desk to checkout customers. Seemingly cozy, Josh wonders if it was a home for someone else. He doesn't think for too long. Josh weaves through the shelves, swiping the beam of his flashlight over discarded prescription boxes and empty pill bottles. On the carpet underfoot, Josh almost steps on a bag of needles and a small vial. His heart leaps at the sight.

"Oh," he hears on his right, after he's standing with the objects in his hand. "I must've forgotten those."

Josh rubs his thumb into the sticker on the front. He almost cries.

"Put it in my bag," they say, and spin to face their backpack toward Josh. "Put it with the others."

Josh does cry at this. Upon opening the bag and seeing dozens of vials just like this one kept wrapped in a towel in the laptop pouch, Josh gasps, coughs, and bends at the waist. "Oh, my God."

"Yeah."

"Oh, my _God_."

The compliance to hand over the vial of testosterone and the bag of needles is also a compliance of a traveling companion. Josh zips the bag and listens to the nervous shuffle of feet, the anxious pull of fabric. "What's your name, man?"

"I'm Josh." Josh turns off his flashlight and lets it rest in an inside pocket of his coat. "You?"

"Tyler." Tyler smiles, gentle, slow. "Do you have a gun, Josh?"

Josh shakes his head. "Just a knife." He shows it to Tyler, the blade dirty. Josh stares at it and remembers running until his chest hurt. His chest hurts now, his ribs aching. He's breathing through his mouth. "Do you have a gun?"

Tyler nods. They don't show Josh, but Josh believes them. Tyler has scabs on their face, circles under their eyes. Those eyes of theirs are on Josh's, the pupils large. "Did you get into a fight?" Tyler raises a hand. Josh watches. Tyler licks their lips. "Can I touch you?"

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"What?"

"Your group, is it real? Are you trying to lure me someplace to kill me? Look, if you're going to rob me, I'll give my shit over peacefully."

"No." Tyler frowns, dropping their hand. "What an odd thing to say."

Josh shakes his head. "It's not, okay? I—it's been a rough past few days. I'm just… _scared_."

"I'm scared, too." Tyler begins walking, pushing their hands into their coat pockets. Tiny _ting_ s can be heard, like metal knocking together. Tyler might be wearing a bracelet, or something might be occupying their pockets.

Josh says, "How does my face look?"

"Your cheek's yellow. Eye's purple. But it's open, so…" Tyler shrugs. "I'm more worried about—"

An alarm, a car alarm, right outside the pharmacy doors, it forces Josh and Tyler to press palms to ears, to look at each other with frightened expressions.

" _Holy shit_ ," Tyler says, and breaks into a run, fleeing out the emergency exit. There's honking now, a person deliberately trying to alert everyone within close proximity. And Tyler is running. They're running.

And Josh follows.


	2. More Than

Tyler's backpack is red with Sharpie markings and buttons. It looks put together as if a child did it, tiny scribbles here and there, a butterfly, something that vaguely looks anthropomorphic. Safety pins stuck through the holes in the zippers to aid in zipping, they knock against each other as Tyler runs. Some of the pins have beads on them.

"Shit, shit, shit," Tyler says, feet slapping flatly along the road, toward the source of the alarm, of the honking. "Holy  _shit_."

Josh forgets he's having trouble breathing. He forgets Tyler is a stranger he shouldn't trust. He forgets how to stop running after he's run for so long.

The car in question is a Beetle, the front rammed into another car, a minivan. That's where the alarm originates, and Tyler races directly toward the van, elbow up and quickly smacking into the driver's side window.

Josh hears bone hit glass, and then Tyler's screaming, crumpling to the pavement and hugging themself.

From the Beetle, a man in sunglasses pokes his head from the rolled-down window and says, "Tyler, you fucking idiot."

Tyler's crying. The van's alarm keeps blaring. Josh has a headache. He finds a rock about the size of his palm and sends it into the car window. Unlike Tyler's elbow, the rock goes through the window, shatters it, and Tyler, through their tears, says, "Unlock the door a-a-and—"

Josh unlocks the door and sits in glass. "Okay."

"Pop the hood." Tyler's voice is weak. In the rear-view mirror, Josh watches the guy in the Beetle flip through a magazine.

Tyler stands and drags their feet toward the hood of the car. With bare hands and blotchy cheeks, Tyler unplugs the van's battery.

The silence is disturbing.

Behind them, the guy says, "Great job." It's full of sarcasm, despite the intent not being sarcastic.

Tyler rubs their elbow. "Fuck you," they say, approaching the Beetle. "You didn't have to fucking wreck."

"And you didn't have to try to break a window with your elbow, dumbass."

Balancing on a leg, Tyler sends a foot into the side mirror, and Josh smiles at how far it travels through the sky.

"Okay," the man says, shoving his sunglasses to the top of his head. "You get that, dude. You get that one." His teeth are somehow still white, his nails groomed as they scratch his nostril.

Tyler repeats, "Fuck you," and walks around to the passenger side. They yank on the door handle, the door locked, the man turning his attention to Josh. Josh is used to dark eyes scanning him, taking in all what they can before hands become involved. A pink tongue travels across his lips, and he nods his head toward Josh. This time, he's talking to Tyler.

"You were taking too damn long."

Tyler continues to yank on the handle, impatient. "I told you where I was going. It takes me two days  _at the most_  to return." Tyler's gaze is narrowed, face pinched, and they give another violent yank of the car door handle. Josh watches this go flying over Tyler's head, landing somewhere no one can determine.

The man is unimpressed. "Really, Tyler?" He unlocks the door. "And you were gone for  _two weeks_ , not two days."

Tyler climbs in, and Josh inches toward the car, making his way to the backseat, but the guy's spinning around to stare at him again. Sunglasses still on his head, Josh doesn't miss the way he studies Josh's figure for a second time today. "Nuh-uh," he says, lips pressing together in a passive-aggressive line. "Stranger danger. I don't care if Tyler—"

"Brendon," Tyler hisses, sucking on their finger and shoving it into the man's ear. They twist their wrist, and the man yowls.

"Shit, dude."

"Get in the car," Tyler says to Josh, but the guy's chiming in with, "Don't listen to Tyler. He's too Goddamn friendly. We're bad people. You don't want to roll with us."

Tyler sticks their finger back into his ear, and Josh stands there conflicted as to what to do. Tyler's telling him to get in the car, but the guy—Brendon, apparently—seems to believe Josh is better off going somewhere else. Josh doesn't like being on his own. He's inclined to eating expired food and pulling his knife on people who may have only had well intentions. The knife at his waist hangs heavy with grit. Josh feels sick. He's finding it difficult to breathe. "I," he says, "I can leave."

Brendon says, "See ya," and puts the car in reverse.

Tyler, eyes wide, smacks Brendon's hands. "You can't—oh, my  _God_. You're killing him."

"What does he have to offer, Tyler, huh?" Brendon is shaking, brows nearly to his hairline. "He's scrawny as shit under those layers. He's got a battered face, for fuck's sake, Tyler, and he sounds like he has pneumonia. He's better off dead."

"Brendon, don't—"

Brendon's reversing the car. Tyler hits his arms, tears in their eyes, no doubt from the amount of force they're exerting to push weak fist after weak fist attached to a weak elbow into a forearm that's strong and sturdy and not forgiving in the slightest.

Josh says, "Wait!"

And Brendon waits. "What?"

Josh's swinging his bag around, dropping to crouch on the pavement as he digs inside the front pocket. Brendon was shaking. Brendon is still shaking. Backpack hanging from a shoulder, Josh stands and presents the cigarettes and two lighters he found on his landlord's dead body to Brendon. Like the Holy Grail, Josh has treasure in the palm of his hand, and Brendon latches to it like a moth to a flame.

"Get in."

Josh sits in the backseat, in the middle seat, safe in the center, where he can glance from Tyler and Brendon. Tyler is pissed, face an ugly shade of magenta, and Brendon is ecstatic, thumb fumbling with the lighter as he struggles to ignite a spark. The car's idle, the engine humming. Josh hugs his knees.

Tyler digs inside their bag, the safety pins lightly knocking together. Josh can hear the  _ting-ting_  of metal on Tyler's wrist as they ruffle through the containments of their pack. Held up in a pharmacy, Josh shouldn't be surprised to see Tyler pull out an elbow brace. He is, though, and even more surprised to see Tyler turn in their seat and ask Josh to help them.

Brendon begins to drive, cigarette between index and middle finger. The chill is unbearable with the windows cracked.

"Sure," Josh says.

Tyler tugs up their sleeves, straightening out their arm with much difficulty. Even with the thick striped scarf around their face, Josh notices the look of utter pain and discomfort by just their eyes alone.

Josh slides on the brace, mindful of the bracelet on Tyler's wrist. Charms decorate the simple chain—a cat, a ballerina, and a butterfly. It would not be rude to confess the butterfly on Tyler's backpack doesn't compare to the small charm. The piece of jewelry looks too personal, so Tyler must not have stolen it.

Tyler says their thanks into their scarf and fixes their sleeves. They seem annoyed, but don't comment on this. "Well, introductions are in order, I guess? You know I'm Tyler. And that"—Tyler shrugs their shoulder at the driver's seat—"is Brendon."

"Hey." Brendon's tone is sympathetic. "Look, Tyler, I'm sorry. I didn't want to come after you, but—"

"I don't want to hear it."

Brendon sticks out his bottom lip and raises his eyebrow suggestively. "She wanted her daddy home."

Tyler looks out the window, Brendon laughs, and Josh counts his breaths.

"So," Brendon sighs, thumb drumming along the steering wheel as he brings the cigarette to his mouth. "What's your name?" He drives through intersections and doesn't look both ways.

"Josh."

"Josh." Brendon does this thing with his mouth. "Cool. Where'd you come from? Anywhere close by?"

"Sorta."

Brendon hums. "We're up at this college dormitory. Place has a generator, water, but we conserve when we can. You never know what might fucking happen."

"Yeah, Tyler said something like that."

A side eye to Tyler, Brendon takes a drag from his cigarette. "What about you? Had a group?"

"No. I mean, I spent some time with people here and there, but it wasn't anything permanent."

Tyler turns, cheek to their headrest, and the slightest hint of a smile forms on their face. They are quiet.

Brendon is quiet, too. For a moment, he's pensive. For a moment, they all sit there and listen to Josh breathe in and breathe out at uneven intervals. Nobody says anything. Brendon drives.

"Your place," Josh says, "does it have food?"

"Yes." Tyler looks at Josh, the scarf hanging warmly around their chin. "Are you hungry?"

Josh wipes the tears from his eyes. It answers Tyler's question. Brendon lights another cigarette.

*

The college campus isn't a large one. Josh estimates it would only take a thirty-minute walk to go from one side to the other, and that's only if no obstacles get in the way. He presses his nose up against the glass and watches as Brendon drives past old brick buildings and barren trees and streetlamps with the faintest light illuminating the sidewalks below. The pavement features chalk art, drawn with unsteady or inexperienced hands. There are suns and recreations of famous paintings. Josh sees Van Gogh's  _Starry Night_  and feels a little better. It may only be early evening, but Josh appreciates the light and the seemingly kind disposition of the campus.

Brendon, on the other hand, would rather they be enclosed in the Earth's natural light. He hits the steering wheel with a palm. "Fucking told them we need to keep the outside lights turned off—can't have people thinking we're here." He's on his third cigarette, the sunglasses back on his face. Tyler is curled into a ball, hugging their legs and turned toward the window. From his spot in the backseat, Josh can see Tyler's reflection in the side mirror—the one still remaining—and Tyler is sleeping.

"So, what, are there quiet hours in place twenty-four hours a day?" Josh looks at Brendon.

"We lay low," Brendon says, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray and flicking it out the window. "We're only occupying a single dorm, so if another group rolls in, they can take over another one."

"Is that wise?" Josh asks.

"No," Brendon says, "but Tyler thinks it's a good idea. He likes going out on his own, not coming back for days, maybe weeks. He says it's because he likes being alone, but I wanna say it's because he likes meeting new people."

Josh takes in a ragged breath. Tyler wakes at that, and Brendon wrinkles his nose. "You need'a get that looked over."

"I'm gonna. Don't worry," Tyler cuts in, raising their arms above their head to stretch. They only wince once, because of their elbow.

"He's rooming with you? I didn't think she'd want to share her daddy with someone else." There goes Brendon's eyebrow, suggestive, and he laughs, and Tyler turns to look out the window.

"You don't have to stay in my room," Tyler says, "but I, like,  _get_  wanting to be near someone the first night in a new place. I don't know how long you've been out there by yourself, but I'd want to be close to other people until I got comfortable. That is, if you feel safe around them. If they give off bad vibes, then I'd go in the other room." Tyler chews on the side of their cheek. "It's your decision."

"She won't like it," Brendon sings, and at Tyler's smack to his arm, he laughs and adds, "Come  _on_ , she's so clingy. She isn't going to—"

Tyler narrows their eyes, and Brendon shuts up.

He clears his throat. "Okay, Josh, once we get there, we're gonna be searched. I wanted to let you know ahead of time so you don't think we're targeting you or anything."

"'Preciate it," Josh mumbles, and Brendon continues driving through campus, taking turns down side roads and driving onto curbs.

"You're a terrible driver," Tyler concludes when a parking lot comes into view.

"Yeah, Sarah's not—"

Tyler snorts. "Oh, please don't tell me you named the car after Sarah. She's gonna be so pissed."

"Dude, shut the fuck up. It's Sarah's car."

"Even worse! You broke a headlight."

"Did not."

"And lost a mirror, a door handle."

"That was your fault!"

Tyler rolls their eyes.

At the Beetle's halt, everybody piles out and slings bags over shoulders. Even Brendon, who only came to bring Tyler home, has a bag. However, it looks empty, but Josh knows the need to have something on the back when out traveling.

Josh follows behind Tyler, and Tyler follows Brendon. Single file, Brendon is the leader, and he waves at the two people standing guard, pistols in their hands and smiles on their faces. They say hi to Brendon and Tyler, and then ask, "Who's the new guy?"

"Name's Josh," Brendon tells them, allowing Tyler and Josh to step inside the dormitory before him. The dorm in question is on the smaller side, like it may have been reserved for a specific type of student. Josh assumes the honor kids, seeing as the interior is cozier than the dorms he has seen inside. It seems nicer than the other dormitories, but Josh expects the place got secured during the early days—maybe even the early hours. Class was in session when chaos erupted, so what happened to the students? Did they hurry home to be with their loved ones? What did Josh do? He fucked. He fucked and fucked and fucked.

A woman is at the front desk. Her head is shaved, and she has a shotgun strapped to her back. "Bags," she says, and since Brendon was holding the door open for them, Tyler is the first in line. They give their bag to the girl, and they begin to unravel their scarf, sticking it into a coat pocket. Along with handing over their bag, Tyler pulls a knife—clean—from their sock and a pistol with a silencer from their waistband. Josh frowns.

She goes through Tyler's bag. "Testosterone," she says, and stops reading the label after the third one she finds. "Stocking up?"

"You never know."

Josh stares at the walls. Notices of floor meetings, events around campus, and reminders to go to tutoring if necessary are posted around the lobby. The edges are neat, still held up by a piece of scotch tape, as if no one bothered to destroy them when it came to ransacking the place. Along with hospitals, any place of residence should have been scavenged through first. Bedding, snacks, toiletries, college dormitories could hold many cherished items—drugs and alcohol included. Josh sees a can of beer at the front desk, a dent from a thumb on the side to hint that the contents are nearly gone. Despite the consumption, the girl looks relatively well-composed. She's going through the rest of Tyler's backpack, the safety pins on zippers and buttons knocking together as she rustles.

"Pain killers, burn cream, bandages—"

"My job was to get medicine," Tyler reminds her.

She pulls out packs of batteries, just three small boxes of AAs. "Okay."

"You can keep those," Tyler says. "I couldn't leave them behind."

"No," she says, and returns the batteries back into Tyler's bag. "You can keep them. You'll just end up stealing them anyway."

Tyler makes to argue, but Brendon appears, cutting their makeshift line and standing off to the side, leaning his weight on his elbows, on the desk. "Tyler, don't try to deny—"

"I'm not." Tyler frowns. "I'm not," they repeat, quieter.

The remainder of Tyler's bag consists of spray paint, water bottles, and some changes of clothing. Tyler's already wearing so many layers Josh wouldn't blame them for not wanting to expose bare skin to the elements, even if it was for a split second. Josh hasn't changed his clothes since he's been on the run, and he knows that's a mistake. His breathing is coming quicker now, like he's going through fucking labor. It's hard to ignore the elephant in the room.

As if the line is still in place, the girl behind the desk gestures for Josh's bag. He passes it over, and then draws out his knife, like he saw Tyler do. It's dull next to Tyler's. There's a brief pause, where the girl stares at him, waiting, and it isn't until Josh frowns that she says, "Is that all your weapons?"

"Well, yeah."

"You don't have a gun?" she asks in disbelief, lips parted. Josh's silence brings her more disbelief, and laughter. "You can't possibly be serious. How do you not have a gun? It's in your bag, isn't it?" She sticks her hands inside, pulling out his own version of a first-aid kit. His supplies go in the pile she made with Tyler's stash. Josh realizes then and only then this place is his new home. He wonders, if he ever did decide to leave, would they give him some supplies before he goes? Judging by Brendon's insistence on driving away, Josh can only assume they don't get many new residents. And judging by Tyler's tone when they shouted "you're killing him", Josh can also assume Tyler is used to seeing new residents turned away far too often. Like Brendon said, Tyler's too friendly. In this new world, that could be either a blessing or the route to a quick death.

"No gun," she says, chargers for phones and other handheld devices wrapped around her fingers. "These yours? Or did you find them?"

"Mine."

"And the phone and iPod?"

"Same."

She returns them to the bag and doesn't bother taking out the towels, clothing, or the water bottles and flashlight. She thinks they're acceptable for Josh to keep, unlike the medicine. Tyler's testosterone even goes into a bin kept under the desk, hastily labeled as "medicine". It's empty, but Josh thinks the bin is just used as transport to the infirmary—if they have an infirmary. Josh's face is battered, and it hurts to breathe, and every time he inhales, the girl's nose wrinkles, and every time he exhales, the girl winces.

"You're good," she says. "Welcome. You can take your knife."

Josh sticks it through his belt loop, and Tyler slides theirs into their sock. The gun is kept on the desk, and it's soon joined by Brendon's gun. They must have a system here, where guns are checked in and out, and not kept inside their bedrooms. Makes sense, Josh supposes. And they're not left totally defenseless, no matter how dull the knife might be.

In Brendon's bag, there's only a water bottle, which Brendon swears is water, but the girl doesn't believe him for a second. "Sure," she says. "How was his driving?" she asks Tyler.

"He rammed into a van, broke a headlight." Tyler is smug. Brendon is covering his face with his hands. And the girl is smiling.

"Thought so. Should we tell Sarah?"

"I'll tell her," Brendon says, ever the honorable gentleman. "Oh," he says, rapping his knuckles along the top of the desk, "do something about the lights outside." When he gets his bag—and the not-water bottle—he starts toward the double doors to the back of the lobby. "Clean him up," he says, pointing at Josh. "You said you were gonna."

"I will," Tyler says.

Josh feels like a burden. He hugs himself.

"Do you want me to tell—?" the girl starts, and Tyler shakes their head and says, "Not now."

"She—"

Tyler turns, foot kicking out. "Follow me," they say, and they go through the same doors Brendon went through moments prior. Josh follows.

"I live at the end of the hallway," they say, small talk. "Make yourself, like… comfortable. I'll get some stuff to clean you up. We don't have a doctor, but I was going to school for… that kind of stuff."

"Really?" Josh smiles.

"Uh… do animals count?"

Josh laughs. It hurts to, but he does it anyway. "Same thing, right?"

Tyler laughs with him. "Oh, yeah."

The door isn't locked. This makes sense, too. "Hungry?" Tyler asks, after opening the door, thinking the sight of a furnished room wouldn't daze Josh that much. "I can see if anybody's cooked anything once you're patched up."

The streetlamp outside, not yet turned off to appease Brendon's wishes, bathes the room in a soft light. The flooring is tile, but three rugs cover them, one by each door in the room, and one between the beds. The bed themselves are made, perhaps decorated by their past owners. Because of the flowers on a comforter and chevron on the other, and the left-behind photos tacked on a cork board, Josh thinks this used to be a girls' room. He doesn't know why that makes him feel relieved. Would it be cleaner?

Tyler drops their bag on a desk. "Sit," they say, shrugging off their coat on their way to the en suite restroom. This definitely belonged to either the wealthy students or the more academically inclined students.

Josh sits on the bed with the floral patterns. He doesn't know why he thinks this is Tyler's bed. He begins the task of undressing, only feeling safe enough to peel off his coat, sweatshirt, and beanie. He'll remove more if it becomes necessary. He knows it will become necessary. Josh will prolong the inevitable.

He carefully places his backpack next to Tyler's on the desk. He wonders what would have happened if the girl had pulled out the towels at the bottom, if she had found the money Josh stole from his ex. Is money useful? Would Josh be considered rich?

Tyler comes back with no shoes, just socks, and their knife in hand. "You can wash your face in the sink. We have water." They pause. "Or, like, you can take a shower."

Josh shakes his head. "I'll wash my face."

"Cool." Tyler keeps the knife in a drawer in the desk. "Washcloths are in the linen closet. Face wash is in the medicine cabinet. Use less than you think you need." Tyler thinks for a moment. "I'll get…" They drift and don't finish, in favor of venturing out in the hallway, well lit compared to the dim bedrooms.

It smells faintly of blood, but Josh is used to that. He goes into the bathroom, fumbling around for a light on the wall. It's a little weak, but it's enough for Josh to see what he's doing. He grabs a washcloth and runs the water over it as he grabs for the face wash. A shower sounds more pleasing than just washing his face, but Josh is, in simplest terms, fucking terrified. He's shaking even now, as he holds his hair away from his face and rubs the wash into his skin. The shaking is good. He covers more ground far quicker when he shakes.

Tyler comes into the room, shutting the door behind them quietly. Josh hears the rustle of clothing and socked feet pacing, setting down whatever they collected. If not from an infirmary, Josh knows they must have some kind of supply closet—a room, anything. It's easier that way, for access and for stealing.

Josh pats his face dry with a towel and stands in the middle of the bedroom, between the beds. Still in his shoes, his knife still in a belt loop, Josh asks Tyler, "So, why do you need all the batteries?"

Tyler is dressed down to their "they" shirt, which Josh now notices is sleeveless. It's loose, flowing around the tops of their thighs, covered with a pair of yellow basketball shorts. Tyler doesn't seem uncomfortable. If anything, Tyler is in their element. They aren't bothered by Josh's question either. "My vibrators drain them. I don't want to be responsible for our generators going out. So… batteries." Tyler shrugs.

It feels as if Josh hasn't had sex in years. He looks down at his feet. "Yeah."

"Sit down." Tyler's grabbed a tube of Neosporin and a thing of butterfly bandages.

Josh hands over his knife first, and Tyler deposits it in the same drawer as their knife. There's no way for them to get mixed.

He removes his shoes next, and pulls his legs underneath him as he sits on the bed. Tyler sits with him, in front of him, and delicately takes hold of his chin. "Good news," they say, smiling with crooked teeth. "Looks as if most of the damage was actually dirt."

Josh noticed that. It doesn't hurt to blink anymore.

"D'ya want me to bandage up these cuts and scrapes? I think our main concern should be why you're breathing like that."

Josh knows why. He knows, he knows, he knows.

"You don't need to tell me what happened, but you need to tell me if you think you've broken a rib." Tyler's voice is in the center of Josh's mind. "Do you think your ribs are broken?"

"Maybe." Josh shrugs. "I'unno. I… Tyler, I—"

"Can I see?"

They stare at Josh, and Josh presses his lips together. "Help me?"

"Stand up."

Back in the middle of the room, Tyler doesn't touch Josh until Josh gives permission, and Josh gives permission early on—it'll go easier like this. Tyler is open. Tyler is understanding. From here, even in the dim light, Josh can make out full lips, sculpted eyebrows, and nipples pressing against the loose fabric of their shirt. Right here, even in the dim light, Josh is safe.

Josh removes his long-sleeve shirt, Tyler helping whenever they can, mindful of the brace on their elbow and the charms on their wrist. Down to his t-shirt, Josh pays attention to the charm bracelet as Tyler's hands pull up the t-shirt. The last layer of clothing, but certainly not the last barrier to bare skin, Josh feels as if he's already naked, no matter he's still wearing pants.

"Josh," Tyler sighs, dropping the t-shirt on the bed, with the rest of Josh's clothing. "Rule number one of wearing a binder, don't go more than—"

"I know," Josh interrupts, because he  _does_  know. "I was getting ready for bed when these men broke into my apartment. I grabbed what I could, got dressed with what I could, and ran. I've been running. I didn't—"

"It's okay, Josh." Tyler means it. "I understand. Need help taking it off?"

"Yeah."

Once it's off, once it's gone, Josh takes in a shaky breath. Tears spring to his eyes, and his hands come to his breasts, touching them, holding them, and everything hurts. Josh focuses on breathing. Tyler's palms are warm along Josh's ribs, inspecting gently, delicately. Josh thinks he might cry. He does cry.

"I don't think you've broken anything. You have some bad bruising. Keep breathing."

Josh does this, too.

"Hey," Tyler says, smiling, eyes soft. "You just need to rest for a few days. Do you want to hear some more good news?"

Josh rolls his shoulders.

"You're in a safe and secure place. You can rest as long as you need—as long as you  _want_." Tyler removes their hands. Josh drops his hands, lets his arms hang by his sides. "Do you want an ice pack? Food? I smelled something in the hallway."

"Sure. To, uh, both of that." Josh wipes an eye.

Tyler nods. "Get in bed. Doesn't matter which one. I'll get you that ice pack."

Josh folds his clothing and sets them on top of the other desk, currently the home of scrap pieces of paper written and drawn on with Sharpie. Butterflies and animals, it looks like it was done by the same hand as whoever polished Tyler's bag. Josh smiles, takes a deep breath, and undresses to his long johns. He pulls on his t-shirt. Josh might be comfortable with his body, especially in the presence of attractive people, but that doesn't stop him from getting cold.

Tyler has an ice pack wrapped in an old towel under their arm and a bowl of instant ramen in their hand. For the duration of the trip back to the bedroom, Tyler's elbow had the slightest relief. Josh is about to ask if Tyler's in pain, but Tyler shoves a fork in his mouth and smiles that smile of theirs again. "Good?" they ask.

Josh chose the bed with the floral pattern. The sheets are stained in spots, but they're soft and smell faintly of flowers—rather fitting. Because these are college dorms, the beds are extra long, twin-sized, and yet, Tyler squeezes themself beside Josh. They're still smiling. "Here's your ice pack. Which side hurts more?"

"Right." Josh traps it between his arm and side. "Thank you."

Tyler has another forkful waiting in front of Josh's mouth. "This is a no-brainer, but I would lay off the binder for a few days. Maybe for the rest of the week."

Josh doesn't know the date.

Tyler continues, "I wouldn't even wear a sports bra, but that's just me."

"Didn't bring anything like that with me."

Another bite of ramen, Josh chews, and Tyler says, "That doesn't matter. I think we're the same cup size anyway."

Their smiles are shy.


	3. Animal Crackers

Adam says, "I could fucking kill you right now, and nothing will happen to me." His grip is tight, his palm dry, and he presses the blade of his knife into the side of Josh's neck, sharp, splitting. "If the world's going to end"—Adam removes the knife, twirling it—"then we're going out together."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's pressing his mouth to Josh's mouth, his fingers between Josh's legs, tongue going inside Josh, fingers going inside Josh. Deeper, deeper, Josh is wet, Josh is panting, Josh is screaming, Josh is coming.

Adam sinks his knife into Josh's forehead.

And Josh wakes.

*

It's the third time he's woken tonight. Tyler is next to him still, like the past two times, hugging their knees, looking mildly uncomfortable at how much trouble Josh is having maintaining even two hours of sleep.

"New environment," Tyler says, and presses their hands together. "I get it. Shock to the system."

Josh rubs his eyes.

"Do you need anything?" Tyler is tired, shivering a little, too. "Painkillers?"

"Talk to me," Josh says, his ice pack more water than ice. "Tell me about, like… how you were gonna be a vet."

Tyler blinks. "Oh." Their face relaxes. They chew on their thumb. "You really want to know? You're not just gonna fall asleep as soon as I start talking?"

"No promises."

"Okay."

Lying beneath the comforter, Josh doesn't move. If he does move, he doesn't move much. It hurts. Tyler knows it hurts. They're moving around the bed, pulling their legs underneath them as they prepare to tell Josh their story. Josh doesn't know how long he'll stay awake. As of right now, he isn't tired—more sluggish than anything. Third time waking up tonight, the streetlights outside are finally gone. In the dark, Josh is used to this, but he can't help but think the darkness is preventing him from sleeping. He's spent the night in janitor's closets, cramped, tight, and he slept fine. This, though, maybe it's because the place is vast, largely unknown, and full of strangers  _with guns_ —no matter if there aren't any allowed in the bedrooms. Maybe it's not the guns at all; maybe it's the knives.

Josh says, "You're not going to kill me, right?"

Tyler can see the remnants of a nightmare on Josh's face. Their lips open, and they don't hesitate to reply. "Why would I do that?" they say.

Tyler's repeating themself. "Why would I do that? You're not a threat. If I was going to kill you, I would have done so already."

Josh pulls the blanket around himself a little tighter. "How reassuring."

The framing of the bed creaks as Tyler looms over Josh, pressing a hand to the pillow by Josh's head. They're leaning forward, getting in close to tell Josh a secret. "I haven't killed anyone—not directly—but I do know how to make someone suffer." To prove their point, their free hand hovers above the covers, right where Josh's ribs ache. Josh focuses on the bracelet around their wrist, watching it. "Have you killed anyone before?"

"No. I should've, though."

Tyler says, "Don't think about that." Tyler doesn't touch Josh. Their hand hovers above Josh's side. "Lemme get you another ice pack."

"No." Josh shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

Tyler doesn't look convinced, but they don't pester further. Instead, they push themself from Josh's space, sitting by Josh's legs. They're supposed to tell Josh the story of how they were going to be a vet, but they don't begin the story. No, they're staring at Josh, just staring, and Josh realizes he doesn't need a bedtime story. He needs constant reassurance of safety. Compared to everything else, Josh considers it enough.

"Do you need anything?" Tyler asks, and Josh says, "No, I'm fine."

Josh gingerly removes the melted ice pack from his side and passes it to Tyler, who takes it without question. As they're standing to place it on a desk, Josh fights the impulse to wince with every move he takes. He tries to lie on his side, and then completes the roll onto his stomach by the time Tyler rejoins him on the bed. "You should sleep," Josh says.

Tyler agrees with a hum. "Haven't slept well…" It sounds like Tyler's trying to provide Josh with a rough estimate, but they're drawing a blank. To Josh, they said they hadn't seen another person for a long time. To Brendon, they said their last job takes them two days to complete—but Brendon said Tyler was gone for two weeks, not two days. Josh lost track of time out there, running and running until he forgot how to do much else.

"Yeah," Josh says, because it seems like a million years passed between them.

"I can go in the other bed."

"It's cold." Josh shivers and hates that he does. He even hates how he hates himself for shivering, for his body's natural reaction to the chill. It's cold at night, and given how this place doesn't have lights on right now, and according to Brendon, they conserve whatever they can when they can, it's natural to shiver, to be cold, to want warmth by any means necessary.

Tyler understands right away, and they get off the bed for a moment to pull on more clothes. Just in a sleeveless shirt and basketball shorts, Tyler grabs whatever clothes they see first—Josh's. Tyler pulls Josh's sweatshirt over their head, and then walks toward a dresser. Wooden, nailed to the wall to prevent injury, it holds clothing, and judging by the way Tyler handles the fabric, Josh assumes Tyler's vibrators must hold residence in there, as well.

Along with his ribs, between Josh's legs aches. It's dull. He can ignore it.

Tyler slides a pair of sweatpants over their basketball shorts. Before they climb back into bed, they turn into the bathroom, disappearing for a moment with a menstrual pad in hand. Josh sees the yellow wrapping and instantly touches his stomach in a Pavlovian response. "Shit," he sighs.

"What?" Tyler gets underneath the covers, two blankets and the floral comforter.

"Dude, you probably feel like shit right now." Josh wants to turn over, wants to stare at Tyler as he says this, but it hurts to move.

Tyler gets it, though, they  _get it_ , and they press their cheek to the middle of Josh's back. "I do."

" _Dude_." Josh shakes his head. "You shouldn't have taken care of me, then. Like, you should have—"

"I'm used to it." Tyler's eyelashes brush along Josh's shirt. "Not taking care of you per se, but taking care of others. I'm used to it."

Josh says, "Used to feeling like shit, too?"

And Tyler says, "Yes."

And then, quietly, Tyler snores. Josh sleeps and doesn't dream.

*

This time, when Josh wakes, it's to daylight streaming through the blinds. Tyler is beside him, hugging a pillow, their face pressed to the drool-stained case with eyes shut and lightly twitching. Tyler is waking. Tyler looks as if they didn't want to wake. Josh knows that look well.

"Hungry?" Tyler rubs their knuckles into their eyes. "I can—"

"Think I'm gonna take a shower. Does that offer still… stand?"

Tyler doesn't move for a moment, just keeps their palms over their eyes. "Yeah. Don't take too long."

"Ten minutes tops," Josh says, and eases himself from the bed. It hurts to twist and turn, but if he takes it easy, he can ignore the pain wrapping around his torso. This isn't the first time he's worn his binder excessively, and he knows it won't be the last if history continues to repeat itself. The first time Josh wore the thing, it was for a whole day, even slept in it. He lounged around his house and thought it was safe to do so, but his chest hurt anyway. It doesn't matter what Josh did or planned to do—nothing, sitting,  _running_ , the number one rule of wearing a binder is to not wear it more than—

"Ten minutes?" Tyler's eyebrow arches, hands resting in a perfect steeple on their chest. "You can take a shower in ten minutes?"

Josh shrugs. "I mean, I  _could_. Gotta conserve water, right?"

Tyler shrugs, too. "Can't really wash your hair that well in ten minutes."

"Sounds like to me you want me out of here for more than ten minutes."

Cheeks burning, Tyler smiles. "What ever gave you that impression?"

Josh laughs, a quiet huff. He runs his fingers over the right side of his ribs, curling to gently massage. "Just a feeling." Josh stares at Tyler on the bed, watching Tyler swing their legs over the edge of the hard mattress, stand, and walk over to their dresser. Josh steps aside to give them room.

"How do you feel about penetration?" Tyler asks, so casual, like it means nothing, but their cheeks are still that shade of red.

"Like…" Josh knows what Tyler means, and he knows what's in the drawer Tyler crouches beside with their knees against the tile flooring, their fingers already holding the handle. Josh's own fingers twitch and curl along his ribs. "I fucking love it."

Tyler pulls open the drawer—clothes on top, mystery on bottom. "How long has it, uh, been… since you last…?"

"I don't know." Josh shakes his head. "Lost track of the time, but it was after…"

"With a  _person_?"

"Yeah."

Tyler's impressed by this for some reason. They dig inside the drawer, pushing aside thin and thick fabric to unveil their toys. Despite the secrecy, there isn't a lot. Two toys, maybe three, if the small black bead Josh sees is a toy. Tyler takes hold of a standard dildo, pale ivory, and holds it out to Josh, like they're fucking Vanna White. "Good? 'Fraid I don't have anything bigger."

"This is, um, okay." Josh almost doesn't want to touch it. He does.

Tyler passes over a condom next because it makes sense. Josh hasn't used one of these in a long time. "It's not… a vibrator, but… it gets the job done. If you need it, that is. I should've asked you that first, yeah? Kinda just assumed you'd be sexually frustrated."

"Oh, I definitely am."

Tyler looks back down at the drawer. "So, like… light exercise is good in your condition, but I'd still… take it easy. Just shout if you need help." Tyler shuts their eyes and gives a short shake of their head, embarrassed. "Not, like—I mean if you fall or something."

"I know."

Tyler's shake turns into a nod. "Okay, so… I'll be in here. You have clothes, right?"

"In my bag."

"Cool,  _cool_." They're still by the drawer as Josh gathers clothes into his arms. He shoves the toy and condom inside the bundle and goes into the en suite. Tyler tells him, "Bye," in passing, and Josh is too wired to say anything in return.

Josh feels gross, his curls loose and stuck to his temples. He runs his fingers through them as he waits for the water to settle to a more acceptable temperature. Not a brush in sight, not even a comb, Josh didn't think of grabbing one when he fled from his house. He stuck to the essentials, or what seemed essential at the time. Do they have working washers and dryers here?

Before getting into the shower, Josh hears a humming. He catalogs that noise and saves it. It's important. Josh pulls off his clothes and slips under the water. He weeps. He weeps throughout his shower. The water against his skin, soaking his hair, cleaning, cleansing, it's the best feeling in the world.

And then, Josh edges the toy inside him.

He's finished with his shower, sitting on a towel, on the bathroom floor with his legs spread, working the toy with one hand as the other rubs his clit. Lips pressed together, toes curling, Josh comes quickly. He doesn't hear the humming from the bedroom anymore.

Josh peels off the condom and ditches it in a trash bin kept by the sink. He's listening closely now, the humming gone, and yet Tyler's moving, bare feet along the floor, sniffing, clearing their throat. Josh pulls on clothes, his long johns because he's cold, because he's tired. Not allowed to bind, probably not going to bind for some time, Josh yanks on a baggy t-shirt. He wants the added protection of his sweatshirt, but Tyler is wearing it, still wearing it.

They're on the bed, a leg to their chest, as they wait for Josh to finish. There's something in their hands, twirling. Josh holds his dirty clothes to his chest and the dildo in the other. "Thank you," he says.

Tyler raises their head, blinking. "No problem." They take the toy and give Josh a razor, what they were playing with when Josh walked into the room. "You can stick your clothes in my hamper. I'll wash them with my stuff."

Working washer and dryer, check—what else is here?

Josh stares at the razor. Tyler stands to hide the toy. They take Josh's clothes, too, dropping them into the hamper tucked behind the desk furthest from the door, the one with the Sharpie drawings of animals. "Are you trying to tell me I need to shave?"

"You look haggard." Tyler's gaze lingers on the drawings. They say, "No offense."

"No, it's fine." Josh holds out the razor, blue and green and not sharp at all. "I'll shave later. I think I just want to sleep some more."

Tyler takes the razor, begins to twirl it again. "Need to eat." They set the razor on the desk.

"Not hungry."

"Okay."

"Will you sleep? With me. I… I liked… I felt…" Josh looks at his feet, pale toes. "I was safe."

Josh and Tyler crawl into bed, the morning light lounging behind a fluffy cloud. Josh on his stomach, Tyler uses his back as a pillow. The egg-crate foam of the mattress pad is as much of a relief now as it was the night before, cushioning Josh, helping Josh sleep. He's grateful for beds.

Tyler snores. He's grateful for that, too.

*

Adam is here. He isn't subtle. He drives his knife into Josh's chest over and over, over and over. Josh coughs blood all over himself. Adam kisses him even now, hands oily, steady. "I just fucking killed you," he says. And then, a loud bang, and he cries red.

His body is heavy on Josh's, but no matter. Josh is dying. This is a minor inconvenience. It will be over soon.

He sees Tyler, where Adam had been, a gun in their hands, oily, shaky. "Oh, dear," Tyler says sheepishly. "Did I do that?"

Josh watches Tyler turn their head, and he doesn't remember what comes after that. Voices, footsteps, they all scratch at his ears. Tyler's voice, for one, and it's harsh. "Just fucking open the door, Brendon."

Josh shoves his face in between the pillows, nestled on his stomach, chest safe from any harm.

Tyler's touching his back. "What do you want? We're sleeping."

Brendon's quiet. A scuffle, running, and Josh has to viciously yank his legs from whatever decided to jump atop the bed. Now in fetal position, Josh pulls a pillow over his head and listens through a filter.

"Brendon, I told you—"

"She—"

"I'm  _right here_." A new voice, unfamiliar, Josh fights to keep still. "Where the hell were you?"

"Don't talk to me like that. I told you—"

"You said two days.  _Two days_. I thought you were dead."

Tyler laughs, in disbelief and anger. "You'd know if I was dead." Poisonous, Tyler's hand is a gentle pressure on Josh's hip. "Leave. Both of you. We're sleeping."

"And who's that? He's in my bed."

"Stop acting like this. If you think Brendon's going to take your side, you're very mistaken. Now,  _leave_. I don't want to tell you for a third time."

"Actually," Brendon cuts in, feet sliding. The weight on the bed vanishes, and Josh stretches out his legs, taking back control over whoever intruded on their privacy. A girl, Josh thinks, judging by the high voice, but that doesn't mean anything.

"What is it?" Tyler collapses on the bed. Josh wants to scoot closer. He doesn't.

"Sarah's running low on her birth control. Just thought it'd be worth looking at her pharmacy and see if her prescription is still there."

"Doubt it."

"It won't be a worthless trip," Brendon says. "We'll find  _something_ , if not her pills. Come on, Tyler."

"So, what? Who else is coming?"

"Just you and me. And, like, maybe Josh, if he's up to it. I could have Sarah pop in to check if he's still breathing."

Josh chooses this moment to wake, to raise his head in order to stare daggers at whoever pounced on the bed, but it's just him, Tyler, and Brendon in his vicinity. Josh sets his head on a pillow. Tyler's pressing the back of their hand to Josh's forehead, their other hand coming down to raise the hem of Josh's t-shirt. It's slow and careful; Tyler stops right at the bruising and not a half of an inch more.

From the doorway, Brendon whistles. "You're tough shit, man."

Josh smiles faintly.

Tyler says, "Ice pack?"

Brendon's already leaving to get one—not before Tyler points out the melted one on the desk. They're in silence for a moment, the bedroom door open.

Tyler's leaning in, whispering, "It's okay if you stay here. Sarah's really nice." Tyler brushes Josh's hair from his face, some of the curls tight and still damp.

"Be safe out there," Josh says. That's all he can really say. He could ask for Tyler to come back today, tomorrow, sometime soon, but he knows it's unfair. Tyler seems restless, never allowing themself a period of rest because there is always something  _more_. Josh sees the appeal and believes there's a part of him that's like that, as well. His ribs are bruised, though, so he can't leave, can't  _run_.

Tyler frowns. "Next time, okay? We'll go out scavenging together." From here, with afternoon sun in the room, Josh counts four scabs on Tyler's right cheek. Small, some old and some new, they were pimples at one point, until nails and compulsion came to them. "I won't be gone long." Tyler fixes the pillows for Josh, fluffing them, arranging them in a comfortable manner as Josh struggles to sit upright.

"Just be careful." Josh absently touches his side, holding it.

"Brendon's getting an ice pack. You'll feel better after you rest." Tyler stands, straightening Josh's sweatshirt with their palms. "Are you hungry?"

"Not right now." Josh needs to eat, despite the pain in his torso. He's glad he doesn't have a cold. If he sneezes, if he coughs, he would be in tears.

"You need to stay hydrated." Tyler pokes around in Josh's bag, taking out a water bottle he kept in there, along with his phone and its charger. "Want me to charge this?"

Brendon returns, fresh ice pack in hand. It's wrapped in a small towel, preventing the skin to turn numb at the initial press. "Here," he says, and glances at Tyler. "Dude, there's no way that's gonna work. We need to use the generators' power for—"

"Might as well try." Tyler ducks and jams the charger into the wall. The phone, cold to the touch and most likely worthless, alights. Josh has never felt more at home than he does when he sees the apple logo.

However, it stays frozen on that screen, and after a moment of silent watch, Tyler turns the phone face down and says, "Good to wait."

Brendon remembers he has the ice pack still and completes his walk toward the bed. "Here," he repeats, but means to give Josh the ice pack this time. "Lie down."

Josh does, and Brendon pulls the covers around him, tucking him in neatly. Josh cradles the ice pack to his ribs, the left side now, and smiles at how soft the towel is against his hand. Most towels would be rough, but this is a soothing texture. Josh doesn't mind holding this until the ice inside melts.

Tyler disappears into the bathroom with a change of clothes and a menstrual pad.

Brendon says, "I guess you're staying here?"

"Need to rest," Josh says, and it's bitter. Brendon doesn't miss that.

"What even happened?" Brendon waves his hand. "You still look scrawny as shit, but you're not breathing like you were before, so you're  _better_. Tyler only took Neosporin and some bandages." Brendon catches sight of them on a desk. His eyes flutter to the other desk, and whatever he sees makes his face split in two from how hard he's smiling.

Before Josh can ask why, Tyler does it for him. "Like what you see?" they ask, which is both suggestive and irritated. Bothered, Tyler rubs their eyes as they drop dirty clothes in their hamper. Nothing looks different, save for the pants. Dressed like when Josh met them, Tyler's knees poke through holes, but they're safe from the weather outside by a thick pair of gray leggings. Tyler is wearing Josh's sweatshirt again. The black material with the UFO on the front is foreign to Josh. It doesn't look like his. It fits Tyler well.

"Dude," Brendon says, pointing at the drawings on the desk. "You can't—"

"I can, and I am." Tyler steps into their floral vans and loops that hideously long and striped scarf around their neck and mouth.

"Whatever."

Tyler shoves on coat and beanie and pulls their knife from the drawer. They hide it in their socks, between the longer tube sock and the shorter crew cut. "Let's just go." Nothing new drops into their bag, but Josh imagines they and Brendon will stock up before leaving the campus. Would Brendon be driving? Gasoline, how are they conserving that?

"Hey," Tyler says, from behind their scarf. "I'll be careful." They echo Josh's words.

Josh smiles.

Brendon needs to stop by his room to get dressed. "I'll tell Sarah to keep an eye on you. You're bedridden."

"Light exercise is good," Tyler says, the corners of their eyes crinkling.

Brendon nudges Tyler, though it's unclear if he understood Tyler's implication like Josh did. "I'll have him back by the end of the day." He furrows his brow. "Hey, where'd you find those cigarettes? I've tried looking for some when I'm out, but always come up dry."

"Because you're always drunk," Tyler quips.

"I'm a functioning alcoholic," Brendon corrects.

"My landlord had some." Josh switches the ice pack to his other side.

"That's lucky."

"Found 'em on his body."

Tyler's smiling, and Brendon's blinking. "Still," he says, and he's smiling, too. "That's lucky."

The door shuts behind them. Josh closes his eyes.

*

Josh dreams of the girl with the two-tone hair. She's spinning, gun in hand, playing with the man behind her. A step to the left, three steps to the right, she laughs, and the man grabs her, twists her, and Josh watches his brains leave his skull. An explosion, a sudden rainfall, Josh flinches. He remembers reading somewhere these little jumps mean the heart has restarted. Josh touches his chest. He feels sick.

"Are you okay?" Another unfamiliar voice, but this one is kinder. "Bad dream?"

He's at a loss. He doesn't know how to describe it, so he keeps quiet.

This must be Sarah. Light overcast outside, the room is molded with a gentle brush that doesn't illuminate and doesn't frighten. Sarah is a delicate presence. Brown hair twisted into a high ponytail, the sides of her face framed with bangs cut blunt by her own hand, she's leaning forward and pressing the back of her hand to Josh's forehead. "Don't have a fever. You're sweating. Are you okay?" she asks again.

Josh shakes his head. "Feel awful."

Sarah has blue eyes. She chews on the inside of her cheek as she thinks of what to do. Josh watches her, breathing, just breathing. He focuses on breathing. Sarah gives him time to breathe. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Last night. Tyler fed me noodles."

"Saw them in the kitchens," Sarah remarks, straightening out Josh's blankets. "You need more food. You'll feel better, I'm sure."

"Don't want to eat."

"What do you want?"

Josh looks ahead. His head hurts, throbs. "Another ice pack."

"Yeah, Brendon said something about your chest. Has Tyler checked for fractures?"

"Yeah. Said it was just bad bruising."

Sarah gets off the bed, the frame creaking. "I'll get you some soup, okay? Put it in a thermos to keep it warm."

Josh breathes in, and he breathes out. "Okay."

When Sarah returns with a new ice pack and the thermos of soup, Josh stuffs the ice pack between arm and torso, the melted ice pack tossed at the foot of the bed, and unscrews the thermos top. He drinks. Sarah smiles. She takes the melted ice pack and moves it between her hands. "Anything else?"

Mouth full, Josh shakes his head.

"I'll come back in an hour. Maybe hour and a half."

"Okay."

"If you're up to it," she says, "I could show you around."

Josh furrows his brow. He rests the thermos against his bottom lip. "Really?"

"You're staying here, aren't you?" Sarah asks, her brow furrowing along with Josh, a mirror image.

"I… I don't know," Josh admits.

Sarah frowns, but quickly shakes it off. "Just focus on resting."

Josh does, ice pack and thermos of soup and all. And then, he sleeps. He doesn't dream.

Sarah comes, and Sarah goes.

The bitten apple logo continues to stain his phone screen.

*

This time when Sarah walks into the room, Josh is awake and inspecting his bruises. His shirt pulled to just below his breast, he makes sure he wouldn't be flashing anyone if they were to peek through the crack in the door. Despite not caring about his anatomy, he doesn't know much about the people in the building; it's better to be safe.

"Looks bad," Sarah says, "but… better?"

"Loads." Josh grazes fingertips along the curve of his ribs, Sarah watching with intent and just a little apprehension.

"Hungry?" It's been hours. She's grabbing the door knob. "Or… wanna take a walk?"

"Walk. Cabin fever."

"I'll be waiting down the hall."

Josh is disorientated. Evening light hides behind thin clouds, the streetlamps sure to turn on any second. Teasing and purple, Josh rubs along his ribs, still sore and still an array of hues. He can ignore the pain if he tries hard enough. Sarah can help.

Just as she said, she's at the end of the hall. She doesn't bat an eye at Josh's jeans or the flannel and boots he hastily pulled on before heading out. "You all right?" Her hand is outstretched, reaching up to press the back of it to Josh's neck, his cheek, up to his forehead. Josh isn't sick, but she checks all the same.

"I'm fine," Josh says.

So, they walk.

The hall is dim, the lights low and soon to be high once it hits night. Josh is surprised Brendon allows the lights on inside. Perhaps walking around with a flashlight or a candle would be too primitive for the end of days.

"There isn't a lot of us," Sarah says, holding open a door for Josh, "so we only occupy one floor, but the kitchens and laundry room are down in the basement." They move into a stairwell, cold tile for the floor and breath visible on every exhale. It's dark, damp. Sarah wraps her cardigan tighter around her frame, and Josh does the same with his flannel. "I swear it gets warmer," she says, and guides Josh down the stairs. "There's a window broken."

It's a foot above his head, held together with a thin film of ice. "What happened?" he asks.

"I don't know," Sarah says. "That was already like that when we got here."

"Yeah, tell me about that." Josh keeps his head low, watching his feet as he takes the steps down one at a time. "Why here? What happened where you were that caused you to leave?"

"Brendon and I graduated from here. We were at our apartment when they started talking about the fires. Brendon was big on the conspiracies, but he didn't want to emigrate. Everybody emigrated, but we stayed. I don't know why. We should have left, right?"

"I stayed at my apartment until they shut off the water." Josh frowns. "And until these men—"

"I get it," Sarah says. "Ransacking, looting. Fuck, we do some of that ourselves after we check the place out, make sure no one's there."

Josh remembers finding a bike and an empty house. "Yeah."

"So, the world ended, I guess," Sarah continues. "Brendon was… a mess. I knocked on all the doors on our floor, gathered up what was left of our neighbors, and we got in our cars and drove. I didn't think. I just drove, and I ended up here." At the bottom of the staircase, Sarah holds open the door for Josh again. As soon as they enter the basement, they release the tight wraps of their clothing and embrace the steady warmth. "The campus was vacant. We assumed it was because the kids wanted to go home. To be fair, we didn't search extensively. I lived in this dorm. I know it. I felt safe here."

"I feel safe, too," Josh admits, and Sarah squeezes his arm.

The room they enter is for recreation and relatively tidy, for what it's worth. A pool table in the corner surrounded by players, a man helplessly flipping through channels on a TV with a blank screen, and a group of children sat at a table and coloring, the basement itself is a sanctuary. Off to the right resides a kitchen, the doorway open for anyone to walk inside and cook. As they walk, Josh notices closets they pass, all locked up tight. He assumes one is for food and another would be for medicine.

Sarah asks if he's hungry, but her attention is quickly caught by a girl at the table, a red crayon in her hand. "Sarah!" she calls, her foot swinging under the table. "Where are they?"

"They left, sweetie," Sarah says. She walks over to the table and touches the back of the girl's head, holding it as she gauges the rest of the children and their coloring. Two boys and two girls, Sarah turns to one of the boys. "How long has your dad been doing that, Jack?"

The boy named Jack shrugs. "He thinks  _Game of Thrones_  comes on today."

"Does it?"

"No,  _Game of Thrones_  isn't supposed to come on until later this year." Jack screws his face up in thought. "They were filming when the world ended. I hope the actors aren't dead."

Sarah smiles. "That's the spirit."

The girl with the red crayon points at Jack, harsh. "Everybody's fucking dead. We're the only people left."

Sarah frowns, lightly pinches the girl's arm. " _Language_."

"Who cares!" the girl says, tossing her crayon behind her with how fast she throws up her hands. "The world's dead. There are no rules. There will never be rules ever again."

The other boy begins to sniffle, the girl next to him drawing him into a hug over stiff arms of a plastic chair. They might be siblings.

Jack continues coloring a wolf with red eyes. "She's got a point."

"No, she doesn't. All she's doing is upsetting Knox."

Knox sniffs again.

The girl pouts. Her crayon is by Josh's feet. When he picks it up, it breaks in threes. "Sorry," he says, and doesn't know why he does. He hands it back to her, her eyes two black holes as she turns them to stare at Josh. She isn't angry, but she is upset. Milky Ways trapped in the black holes, an ugly scrape stretches across her brown cheek, away from Josh. She looks at Josh now, turning completely in her chair to face front. She doesn't take the crayon. Josh continues holding it out for her to take, but she doesn't take the crayon.

"You're too thin," she says, and scoots her chair backwards. "You need food."

Josh carefully sets the crayon on the table, next to her drawing of a butterfly. "I guess."

"And a haircut."

Sarah laughs. She holds the chair steady as the girl climbs down. "Are you going to cut Josh's hair?"

"My hair's fine." Josh smiles. "But you can gimme a tour."

"Food," she says, and smiles with Josh. She has a dimple in her cheek, and is missing the first molar on her bottom set of teeth.

"Maybe I can eat while you gimme a tour."

"Maybe." She's teasing him, her black holes for eyes playful. She walks around the table, already stretching out her hand for Josh to take. Josh is about to take it because he's polite, because he's nice, because he's fucking decent, but he pauses. A stutter in his movement, his hand faltering for a moment before he remembers it's rude to stare.

Josh tries not to stare, but the girl sees, and the girl smiles. "It's okay," she says, and hooks her fingers around Josh's palm. "You're safe with me. I'm part robot."

It's okay to stare. Josh laughs, a little breathless—speechless. "Who told you that?" he asks.

She shrugs and stands on her right leg, balancing, holding Josh's hand tightly, and twists the prosthetic to show Josh the appendage from all possible angles. She's right. She is part robot. The prosthetic is patterned, painted to mimic the appearance of a robot. She's part machine. She's part robot.

"My mommy told me that," she says, and returns to standing on two feet. Josh notes how her real foot has a relatively new shoe on it, held together by velcro, while the prosthetic goes without. It's scuffed a bit, but that's not to say it doesn't suit her. She's a little battered, too.

"Well, your mommy is very smart. A little girl like you is special."

They walk toward the kitchens, stepping into the room filled with a warm light from a streetlamp. It is only now Josh begins to worry about Tyler and Brendon. Tyler said they wouldn't be gone long. Brendon said they'd be back by the end of the day. Evening, evening, the sky looks purple in the distance.

No door, anybody can watch them in the kitchen. They're not doing anything heinous, Josh standing and the girl on her knees and rummaging inside a cabinet to prepare food for Josh. Josh doesn't know the skill set for what might be a twelve-year-old girl, but the world's slowly turning to complete shit. Maybe the girl's learned how to cook. Maybe her mom is dead. Sarah doesn't look old enough to be her mom. Josh doesn't want to think about dead parents. He doesn't want to think about dead  _anybody_. His appetite is sated with grief, and yet it rumbles at the sight of a box of animal crackers.

"Do you like 'em?"

"Of course." Josh takes them, discreetly checks the expiration date, and cracks open the box.

She begins the tour in the kitchens. She tells Josh they're only allowed to use the oven when it's light outside, because "it's easier to see when there's light outside".

"How do you feel about that?" Josh asks this quietly, getting down to her level to whisper and offer her a cookie in the shape of a lion.

"It's stupid," she mumbles, and takes Josh's hand. She bites off the lion's bottom half and chews on the side of her mouth where she has all her teeth.

She briefly shows Josh the recreation room and tugs him down the hallway. "Jack's dad swears the TV's gonna come on one day. I don't know if it will. If they turn it back on, we'll probably get… those shitty shows on the History Channel."

Josh laughs, letting go of her hand to pull out a rhino to munch. "Did your mommy tell you that, too?"

"I have a brain of my own, you know."

They pass the closets from before, and she confirms Josh's suspicions. "Food only grown-ups can fix, and that one's medicine. If we get a boo-boo, we gotta tell an adult so they can clean us up."

"Makes sense."

They head toward the stairwell, but not before she points at a door hidden behind an out-of-order vending machine. "That's the laundry room. I don't like going in there because it's too hot and too dark. We definitely have to wait until daytime for that."

"Who made up the rules?" Josh passes over another lion cookie for her.

"The grown-ups," she says, with a grimace. "Mostly Brendon. He thinks since he got us all here then he's in charge, but he's usually wasted out of his mind, so we all listen to Sarah. She listens to Brendon." She's still sporting a nasty face. "Brendon says it's because he doesn't want us to be found, but we're going to be found no matter what we do."

Josh helps her up the stairs, holding her hand and taking each step one at a time, both of them shivering. "How do you know that?"

She shrugs, and then shrugs again. "Shit happens."

Josh shoves a bear in his mouth.

They're going down the hallway with the dorm bedrooms. Lights still on, Josh wonders if there's a certain time where they're shut off. Josh slept and slept.

"In the lobby," she says, "are the guns. I'm not supposed to know this, but the room behind the front desk is where all the guns are—which is either really bad or really good."

"I heard you're allowed to keep knives in your room."

"And scissors," she says, and begins pulling Josh toward a bedroom.

"You're not going to cut my hair," Josh says, and he's laughing. She's laughing, too. "I'm supposed to be taking it easy. Resting."

"Are you hurt?"

"Terribly. Wanna see something sick?"

"Yes!"

Dim in the hallway, she can see the nasty bruise spread along Josh's ribcage if she squints. He holds up his shirt, cupping it against his breast, and lets her run her fingers along the blemish. Her big black eyes are invested. Her lips are pulled from her teeth to smile. She says, "You have the same hips as my mom."

Josh blinks. He slowly lowers his shirt. "Do I?"

"Yeah. Easier to hug." She sticks out her bottom lip. "Can I hug you?"

Josh can't say no. "Be careful."

She is. Cheek to Josh's stomach, eyes shut, Josh runs his fingers through her curls, dark and thick, and tells her, "I think I'm gonna go back to bed, okay? I need to rest. Do you need help going back downstairs?"

"No." She takes the box of animal crackers. "I'm eating the rest of these."

"That's fair."

"Sweet dreams," she says, and turns on her heel. She walks, and Josh watches.

"Wait, what's your name?"

"Joy," she says, and smiles, all crooked teeth. "What's  _your_  name?"

"Josh."

"Bye, Josh!" She waves and walks, and Josh watches.

"Bye, Joy."

She skips into the stairwell, eating a lion's head.

*

Sarah checked on him an hour ago, giving him an ice pack without Josh needing to ask. He's currently lying on top of it, his side cold and numb, but it doesn't hurt. The ice pack is hard, still a thick block. He welcomes it.

He's having trouble falling asleep.

Dressed down to his long johns and t-shirt and missing the comfort of his sweatshirt, Josh curls beneath the blankets and rolls onto his other side, trapping the ice pack between his right arm and torso.

He kept track this time. When it gets late, the lights in the hallway go out. The darkness creeps in. The streetlamps switch off. They're in their own bubble.

Hours tick by, a slow crawl, a dull thud at the front of his brain. His heart is racing in his chest, too, his stomach upset. Josh shuts his eyes, but every time he closes them, they open, and they stare. He doesn't process anything he takes in. He can't. He can't sleep.

Hours tick by, and with every passing minute, he begins to understand the pain in his gut is worry, and he is worried for Tyler. They're not back yet, Josh doesn't know when they'll be back, and he doesn't know if he's allowed to go out and search. That would be an overstep. He needs to rest. He needs to rest.

His eyes close, and the bedroom door opens.

It's slow, like a crawl, like the minutes ticking by. The person entering is trying not to wake Josh, is trying to sneak inside. A partner coming home after a late-night tryst, Josh catches them, head raising, eyes open, and Tyler looks at him. Despite the dark, Josh can see the traces of fright in Tyler's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Josh asks, his voice matching Tyler's mood.

"Why are you still up?" Tyler drops their backpack on the desk and tugs the knife from their sock.

"Couldn't sleep. I've been trying, Tyler, but—"

"Do you want some melatonin?" Tyler stands by the bed, arms limp by their sides. Their fingers twitch and curl. "Just found some tablets today. Could get some, crush them, put 'em in applesauce."

Tyler's distracted. Josh watches them look around the room. "Don't need that shit." He sits up, placing the ice pack in his lap, and doesn't say the obvious. It might be obvious. It might not be obvious. "Come to bed."

They step from their shoes, kicking them underneath the bed before they climb atop the mattress. Under the blankets, still in most of their clothes, Tyler lies down and shuts their eyes. From where they're lying, next to Josh, Josh spots more than fright on their face.

"Did you meet someone out there?" Josh asks, lowering onto his side. He takes the ice pack and rests it along Tyler's swollen cheek. The towel is soft. Brendon used this towel. Sarah knew. Sarah understood.

"Always meet someone out there," Tyler mumbles. They welcome the cold against hot, eyes closing.

"Is Brendon okay?"

"Go to sleep, Josh."

Josh does. He listens to Tyler cry, and he listens to Tyler snore.


	4. Tasted of Desire

Josh wakes like he sleeps—restless, confused, sore, and scared. He wakes, the bed pulling at him to continue lying as if he were dead, but he sits up, and when he sits up, he feels as if he were dead. Melted and busted, the ice pack soaks the wrapped towel and leaks over the sheets, collected in a pool where Josh's back and the egg-crate mattress pad formed to become one. His t-shirt sticks to him, both with water and sweat. It's not particularly warm in the room. The sweat on his skin is chilled. He grabs the edge of a blanket, damp from where it hugged his neck.

"Hey," he says.

The blinds are pulled up on one side. Early morning light streams in, illuminating Tyler's skin. Tyler is awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet up on a part of the bed frame where the mattress doesn't cover. Shirtless, the elbow brace contained to their left arm, their eyes are closed, their head is tilted back, and their cheek is a dark shade of purple.

"Hey," Josh says, again, and Tyler quietly hums.

"Hey," Josh says, "I don't think we're the same cup size."

Tyler's chest is small, almost beginning to sprout. Each areola is brown. Hard, but they're forced to be so; each nipple is pierced with a silver bar. The left one looks like angel wings. Along with the piercings, Tyler has two tattoos on their chest—an hourglass and a door. The ink is old.

"Hey," Josh tries for the fourth time, wanting a reaction more than a little hum. He scoots across the bed, dragging the blankets with him. "Tyler, are you okay?"

"Don't touch me," Tyler says, squeezing their eyes shut. "I… Sorry, I meant… I just rubbed some gel on my shoulders, arms… and it seemed like you were heading that way." They open their eyes. "On second thought, I don't think it matters if you accidentally, or purposely, rub against me. You're on testosterone."

Josh looks at his fingers. He doesn't know why he counts on them. It's been too long, too far for fingers to aid him. "Skipped my… last few doses."

"I grabbed some—wait, you were with me." Tyler smiles. It looks as if it might be painful to smile, with the ugly purple spreading across their cheekbone. "Do you want me to… administer it?"

Josh doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

Tyler doesn't hesitate either, leaving the bedroom without a shirt and gel on their shoulders. It's early, so no one should be out. Tyler leaves and returns with no delay. They have a vial kept in their fist and a syringe in its wrapping. A faint smile lines their face as they shut the door with their socked foot and climb onto the bed. "Would be easier if we were on the same T schedule, but I prefer the gel."

"Why?" Josh asks.

"I heard the pills mess up your liver, and it's just…  _better_  for me if I have something I can use every day. When the sun rises, I know it's a new day, and I know I need to apply the gel. It's a routine. It's a new routine, but it's a routine."

Josh is quiet while Tyler runs their thumb over the prescription label. He says, "I… I think I want to use the gel, then."

Tyler raises their head. At first, their expression is unreadable, but then they're smiling—real this time, not faint,  _real_. "Yeah? Okay." Tyler leans over Josh to set the vial and needle on the desk before standing from the bed again. They walk into the en suite bathroom and come back with a tube of Androgel. "Upper arms," they start, passing over the gel. "Stomach, thighs. Do you want to shower first?"

"I showered yesterday. I'm good." Josh leaves the bed to undress, his shirt damp, his long johns, too. While he's busy rubbing the gel into his skin, Tyler inspects the busted ice pack, tutting softly. They gently lift the towel, sodden, and carry it into the bathroom. Josh imagines they're placing it in the sink. He doesn't remember how he managed to roll on top of the pack, considering how he's sure he fell asleep with it cradled to the side of Tyler's cheek.

Tyler got in a fight. They were in trouble. Brendon may have gotten hurt, too, but Tyler was tired, and Josh found sleep came faster to him with Tyler by his side, despite the bruises and the swell. Josh wants to know what happened. He doesn't want to know what happened.

He asks what happened.

"Tyler, what happened?"

Tyler's draping the towel across the footboard of the bed with the chevron print, the bed no one has slept in as of yet. They're chewing on the inside of their cheek. "Just met some guys," Tyler says, reaching out to take the tube from Josh at his finish. They disappear into the bathroom and don't come out straight away.

Josh sits on the bed in his boxer briefs, hands clasped together in his lap. To his right is his sweatshirt, the "I Want to Believe" as vivid as ever in the dim lighting. But even in the dim lighting, Josh catches the thinnest tear in the left sleeve.

He doesn't ask.

Tyler comes back. "We don't have spare sheets. If you want to continue sleeping, need'ta go in the other bed."

"What were you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Tyler admits. They turn down the comforter of the other bed. The blankets and sheets are the same shade of blue. "I'm going to try to sleep more now." They crawl. It's sad.

The gel still needs drying, but Josh picks himself up to sit with Tyler on the bed. Cold, he shivers, and Tyler digs their teeth into their bottom lip. "Ribs look a little better."

"I'm going to tell you a story," Josh says. "You were going to tell me a story, but we both realized I didn't need to hear a story to go to sleep. I'm going to tell you a story."

"You're going to tell me a story?" Amused, Tyler's face is bright. A dimple pokes through the bruise on their cheek. "Will it involve dastardly villains and plundering for booty?"

"Shut up."

Tyler smiles. Josh smiles with them.

"I'm going to tell you the story of a boy who doesn't know how the world ended, but he knows it did. For him, his world ended months before it actually did, maybe a full year, maybe even further back than that.

"There was a vile creature who preyed on him day after day, night after night," Josh begins, Tyler settling onto their side. "The boy didn't care at first. He felt appreciated, good. Really good.

"The creature knew how to act like a human, dress like a human, talk like a human. For all intents and purposes, the creature was a human. It wore a handsome suit with barely any body hair. The boy hated that, but he knew hair growth wasn't within his control. With big hands and sharp teeth, the creature fucked the boy whenever the boy wanted, and then… whenever the boy thought he couldn't handle a single inch more."

Tyler's lips quirk. This is no laughing matter.

"One day, the day the world ended, the boy was too busy getting fucked to notice what had happened. Not in love or infatuation, the boy used the creature because the creature had a huge dick."

Tyler laughs aloud, covering their mouth with their hand. "Thick, too?" They wipe an eye.

"Mm, so fucking thick. It would stretch the boy, and he'd clench around it and orgasm from that alone." Josh looks down at Tyler, the faintest grin on his face. "The creature killed the boy every time it came inside him. He could feel it moving around him, and he'd cry every time it dripped down his thighs. The boy's world ended when the creature held him down and sank its cock inside him. The second time this happened, it was when they were visiting the boy's family. His parents almost walked in. His parents thought he was being hurt. His parents knocked on his bedroom door and called for him. 'Honey, are you okay?' they asked, and the boy was scared, and he said, 'I'm okay, I'm okay,' but he had bruises on his back and burns on his wrists, and he wasn't okay. The creature crept from the window. The boy didn't see it for a while after that."

Tyler picks at the edge of the blanket. Their eyes never break from Josh's. Maintaining eye contact, interested, Tyler draws their leg across the sheets and lightly bumps their shin against Josh's thigh. They are quiet.

Josh says, "The boy felt as if he could never be safe again. The boy kept returning to the creature, and then the world really did end, and the creature really did try to kill the boy. A knife to his throat, fires on the horizon, and the boy fucked the creature again and robbed it blind as it slept." Josh lowers his head. Tyler moves their leg away from Josh. "The boy ran, and the boy still doesn't quite know how the world ended, but the boy is safe now, and he is glad to get this story off his chest."

Tyler presses their leg to Josh's thigh again. "Thank you for telling me that story."

A shrug rolls off Josh's shoulders. He thinks he's dry now, so he lies down. Tyler scoots over, and they use Josh as a pillow. Josh closes his eyes. "Thank you for listening."

Josh falls asleep to the sound of the soft  _ting-ting-ting_  of the charms on Tyler's bracelet.

*

This time, when Josh wakes, he's rested, and Tyler is still next to him, asleep, about to wake themself. Tilted onto their side, arms carefully tucked under a pillow, back turned to Josh, Tyler's snores fade and toes pop from the beginnings of a stretch. They hum, grumbling something. Josh watches.

"Hungry?" It's all they ask. It's needed. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm doing okay. Could do with some food."

"I'll take you to my favorite spot while we eat cereal."

Josh laughs. "Sounds good to me."

*

Dressed in layers, dressed in all they know, Josh's hoodie pocket is home to small boxes of cereal, and Tyler's hands clutch to-go coffee. Made with a machine kept in the basement and stored in cups Tyler found in a cabinet, Josh considers the coffee a saving grace. He loves it, and he cherishes it, and as they walk to Tyler's favorite spot to eat, Josh says, "I'll probably ask to drink your coffee later."

Tyler only laughs.

"Where are we going?" Josh asks. "No one likes to climb this many stairs."

"The elevator's out of service!"

Probably unwise for it to be so, the door onto the dorm's roof is unlocked and a little beaten. It reminds Josh of something right out of a TV show. Fists pounded it down, backs pressed as support, knees wobbling, the door was a barrier in every possible scenario. College students ran, jumped, and flew home—that's the scene Josh likes to picture the most.

"I sit over here," Tyler says, and takes a seat on the makeshift floor, their back against a few pipes. Normally Josh would be frightened up here, but everything is shut off, especially now with the sun in the sky. Brendon would be begging them all to keep the power off.

Josh sits next to Tyler, stretching out his legs. "So, uh, Sarah told me Brendon was really big on those conspiracy theories. Did you ever read up on them?" He pulls out the boxes of cereal from his hoodie and passes one to Tyler. Tyler gives Josh his coffee.

They shake their box of Frosted Flakes. "Read a few."

"What was your favorite?"

Tyler taps their fingers against the side of the box. "The one where the sun was gonna get eaten, and then it was gonna be thrown up or reborn three days later."

Josh is momentarily puzzled, brows knitted together as he connects the dots. Tyler takes this moment to rip open their box of cereal and shove a handful in their mouth.

"Oh," Josh says, finally. "I remember reading that one now. It had something to do, with, like…"

"Ragnarök," Tyler supplies, mouth full. A cornflake spits out, another falls from his chin.

Josh snaps and points. "That." He tugs on the lid of his cereal box. "I don't know what to think of this whole…  _thing_. Everybody moved. I lost electricity, water. Nothing makes sense."

Beside Josh, Tyler lowers their box into their lap, appetite seemingly faded. They stay quiet as Josh continues to talk, only raising their head to sip at their coffee.

"Why did we resort to violence?" Josh ponders. "It was just a few wildfires. That's fucking  _normal_. Why did every fucking person I meet want to know if I was armed? 'Do you have a gun? No?! Well, do you have a weapon? Good, good.'" Josh wraps his fingers around his coffee cup, the brim of the plastic snap-on lid pressing into his bottom lip. "Why did we succumb to this? Why did we turn to looting and fucking and animosity? Why did we react like this because of  _wildfires_?"

Tyler's answer is simple. "Because it isn't just wildfires."

A red flag more now than ever, Tyler's wearing Josh's sweatshirt again, and the tear in the sleeve—no matter how thin—sticks out as much as a black cat among white sheets. Josh gestures toward the cut in the fabric with a nod of his head. "That's my favorite sweatshirt."

"Just grabbed it because it was close to you," Tyler mumbles.

"Yeah,  _close_." Josh nudges Tyler with an elbow, a gentle prod. "I don't care it has a little… wear and tear. I care that you got hurt."

"Didn't even get to my skin."

"Shouldn't have happened in the first place. Tell me what happened."

Tyler's twitching their fingers into the box of cereal, distracted. "Just… Brendon and I, we met this group out there, camped out at the pharmacy. At first, they let us search for Sarah's birth control. We found it. Everything was okay. And then, they accused… they accused Brendon of wanting the pills because of the hormones in it. They claimed Sarah didn't exist, Brendon was an asshole, and the pills would be far better off for the trans woman in their group." Tyler pauses to stick a few cornflakes into their mouth. "And then, they pulled a gun on us. They told us we needed to drop the birth control and leave, and they wouldn't hurt us if we did that. Brendon didn't want to leave without the pills. He… fucking spun this story about how he heard the fires were moving closer, and soon, the fires would be the least of our worries. It was vague, but it played into their fears."

Josh plucks out cornflakes and sets them on his tongue. He doesn't say anything.

Tyler says, "This group knew all the bizarre theories the Internet had, and Brendon could tell they would believe anything by how decrepit they looked. He told me the amount of guns they had proved him right, too." Tyler frowns at this. "We have a lot of guns here—well, not  _a lot_. I take that back. We do have guns." They shake their head and raise a knee to the sky, their chin pressed to the bony feature. "Anyway," Tyler whispers, "they still wanted the birth control, and Brendon wasn't having that. When I saw him hit the floor, I fell with him, and I heard the guns going off, and it's a damn miracle we made it out of there."

Josh's skin grows cold. "Is Brendon okay?"

"He got shot, but he's okay." Tyler rubs their upper arm. "I drove us back. Brendon cried, didn't stop, couldn't stop. Honestly, I didn't want him to stop. I could never stand silent car rides." Tipping the box into their palm, Tyler pops the cereal into their mouth and munches. With no regards for manners, Tyler speaks. "And so, here we are. Glad you didn't come with us?"

"When you put it that way…"

Tyler stares at Josh, pensive. They look ahead, toward the end of the building, at the horizon. "I think Brendon knows something. Sure we've all been together since the news first broke, but he sounded really believable when it came to tricking those people in the pharmacy."

"He's supposed to, isn't he? Sound believable?" Josh uses both hands to hold his coffee. Warm, the beverage is better for his stomach right now. Eating anything solid makes it hurt. Liquid goes down easy. Liquid doesn't hurt.

"Yeah, but it sounded almost _too_ believable."

"What could Brendon know?"

Tyler shrugs. "I don't know. It was a thought."

"Maybe he does know something," Josh entertains. "It would make sense, I would think. Maybe he knows the cause of these fires, or what could happen next. Maybe it's something worse. That's why he was reluctant to let me come back with you two. He wants a tight-knit group. He wants nobody knowing we're here. He wants Sarah still on her birth control because… because maybe he knows this is a temporary deterioration of society. Maybe he knows this will all be over soon."

Birds sing. Large and most likely of prey, their feathers are dark and filthy. They're flying from the west. Dusty and singing, singing, singing, the birds are survivors from the wildfires. Josh and Tyler watch them circle the rooftop before continuing their way to the east coast. Tyler slides their leg along the roof, rocks pushed aside by a shoe with flowers on it. "Y'know, that actually sounds pretty damn plausible." They shake their cereal again, crumbs inside. Josh gives them his box, and Tyler gladly accepts. "I don't think it's true, though. I think Brendon just… He wants us to be safe. He knows all of us. He wouldn't want us to…" Tyler falters. They eat more cereal.

Josh comments, "There're a lot of kids here."

Picking through the cereal, Tyler nods.

Josh continues, "I guess I'm glad there aren't any zombies. Children and zombies don't mix."

Tyler snorts. They cover their mouth and slowly chew.

Smile on his face, a smile that will never go, Josh turns his head toward the sky. The sun is warm and surrounded by clouds the shape of animals. Josh thinks of a wolf swallowing the sun whole, and drinks the rest of his and Tyler's coffee.

*

Tyler hums on their way back downstairs. Josh asks if it's an original tune, to which Tyler mumbles, "Lullaby."

In their room, Tyler retreats into the bathroom with a pad stuffed into the back pocket of their jeans, and Josh takes to running his palm over the sheets of the bed with the floral pattern. Cold now, the sheets are damp, not soaked like they were before. By tonight, the bed will be optimal.

When Tyler returns, they ask Josh about his phone. "Did it ever start up again?"

Eyes wide, Josh jumps toward his phone, picking it up by the charger. Dangling by the cord, the phone spins, and Josh can see the screen is black. Either the phone is ready to be unlocked, or it's turned off with no hope of it turning back on.

Fortunately, it's the former.

" _Sweet_."

Josh pulls the cord from the phone and takes a seat on the closest bed's edge. Tyler perches next to him, a leg to their chest and the other foot on the tile flooring. Shoes still on, hands covered by the sweatshirt sleeves, Tyler's eyes turn to the size of baseballs. "Holy  _crap_."

" _I have Wi-Fi._ "

"Google something! Find out what's been going on!"

Being away from social media for a prolonged period of time would cause Josh to flock to those apps. Almost out of habit, his thumb grows a mind of its own as it taps toward Twitter. Tyler catches him in time, shaking Josh from side to side. "Google!" they say. " _Google!_ "

"Sorry!"

Josh pauses. He can see his thumbs tremble. "What do I—?"

Tyler takes the phone. "Lemme—"

Josh takes it back. "Where's  _your_  phone?"

"Dead," Tyler says, and makes grabby hands toward Josh's phone. "Left the charger at my apartment. Didn't even think of grabbing it. Brendon was screaming. Sarah was rounding us all up."

A shift to the right, Josh angles his phone from Tyler, making it difficult to swipe it from him again. "Your fault."

Tyler pinches Josh's arm.

Josh brings up the news, CNN, MSNBC, anything and everything, and he reads, and Tyler listens.

"'The wildfires have spread from California to the mid-west. The pattern at first was a steady flow of motion, but now the fires are popping up at random throughout the world. Meteorologists as of late are unable to distinguish where and when these fires might appear. The latest round was in North Dakota.'" Josh says, "That doesn't make any fucking sense. It's fucking winter. How can there be wildfires in North fucking Dakota?"

"You're scared," Tyler observes, and eases the phone from Josh. Josh lets them. He hides his face in his hands. Tyler taps, searches. They read aloud. "'Any and all power outages were a result of the wildfires striking'—I don't give a shit." Tyler navigates to a local news website. "Here we go. 'Cities across Ohio are preparing for the wildfires to make their way here. Some residents of Cincinnati say it'll be here soon due to the recent resurgence of electricity and water. Your neighborhood's police will make their rounds and'—yada, yada, yada." Tyler rubs at an eye. "So, like… do they expect us to go back to normal?"

"We can't fucking go back to normal." Head still in his hands, Josh shakes his head, over and over, over and over. "Do you know what I've seen? My fucking apartment was ruined. Dead bodies— _children's_  bodies were j-just—shit." Josh drags his hands down his face, pulling the lower lids from his eyes. "My landlord was  _murdered_. Someone fucking stabbed him because of  _rent_. There's no possible way anything can go back to normal."

"Josh—"

"Do you know how much shit we stole? How many people I've—?"

"Josh." Tyler is stern. They drop Josh's phone onto the bed and take Josh's face in their hands. "Josh, look at me. It won't be back to normal. No one said that. No one is expecting that."

Josh closes his eyes.

From the distance, a shout—"The TV turned on!"

Tyler says, "That'd be Mark," and stands from the bed. They immediately sit back down. "How're your ribs?"

Josh says, "They're fine. Let's go downstairs." And Josh is telling the truth. Tyler believes him, too. There's a smile, lips parting to show off a sliver of teeth, and then they're picking up Josh's phone and passing it to him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Tyler's face falls briefly, and Josh notices. He doesn't need to ask what's wrong; Tyler is already speaking. "Every time I lie down for bed, I think of all the bad things I've done since I followed Brendon and Sarah here. I've hurt people. I've stolen. I've lied. I shut my eyes, and I try to sleep, but…" Tyler holds up a finger. "Okay, on one occasion, one instance, this guy found me while I was out on a run. I was sleeping. He woke me. He just wanted some company. Things turned to shit, and I stabbed him. He didn't die, but I knew the wound was gonna get infected. Like I told you before, I haven't killed anyone—not directly. I didn't kill him, and who's to say he didn't take a tumble and break his neck after we separated? Who's to say he didn't find his way into someone else's camp? Another group? They might have killed him.  _They_  might have killed him, but he was already dying. I think about that a lot."

"What else do you think about?"

Tyler opens their mouth, but they don't make a sound on their own. A little funny, as a knocking on the door replaces their sharp voice. "Can I come in?"

Josh recognizes that voice. "Joy?" he asks, and Tyler furrows their brow.

"You know Joy?"

Josh opens the door, and in comes Joy, racing forward and wrapping her arms around Josh's hips. Her face presses into his stomach, and Josh touches the back of her head as he rocks them from side to side. "Hi there, sweetie."

"Josh! The TV came back on, and guess what? It wasn't the History Channel!"

"That's fantastic, Joy!"

Joy disentangles herself from Josh, continuing to beam. She rocks on her feet for a moment, too excited to stand still. "We gotta—" She stops, then, her weight on her prosthetic, her face peering around Josh's body. "Oh," she says, Josh turning around to look at Tyler. Tyler frowns. It looks like they've been frowning since Josh opened the door and let Joy inside the room.

"Hey, girlie," Tyler says.

Joy blows a raspberry.

Tyler blows one right back.

The exchange is more hateful than Josh cares for, so he tries to break it up. He gets down on Joy's level, taking her hands. Her little fingers are stained with dry paint. "Joy, what was on the TV?"

Joy pouts for a moment. "Jack's dad was doing his routine TV check, and it came on, and he screamed, and then Jack took the remote from him and searched for cartoons, and then his dad took it back, and then Amelie got the remote and gave it to Knox, and Knox looked for cartoons again, and then their parents took the remote and fought over it, and then Brendon showed up, and he yelled and waved around his arm and tried to get the remote, and then Sarah came in, and she had the remote when I came up here to get you."

Tyler steps forward. They continue standing upright. "So, we have regular channels again? Did no one check the news?"

"Shut up," she says, "not talking to you."

Tyler's cheeks flush.

Josh says, "That wasn't nice."

Joy rolls her eyes.

"Answer Tyler's question. Don't be rude."

She looks at Josh and answers. "Sarah changed it to the news, but I didn't want to watch that shit—"

"Language," Tyler scolds.

"—and you're, like, an adult, so I came up here to tell you because adults watch the news. But you're also, like, really cool, so I came up here to see if you'd want to color or something because I don't want to hear about the world turning even more into shit."

" _Language_ ," Tyler hisses, and Joy ignores them.

"Do you wanna color?"

"He's not going to color with you," Tyler says, and steps around Josh to grab hold of Joy's upper arms. For a second, Josh thinks Tyler might shake Joy, might harm her, but they're lifting her off the ground and hoisting her onto their hip. "You're not going to color either. You're coming with us back downstairs, and you're going to watch the news with us."

"No, I'm not."

Tyler carts Joy down the hall. Josh follows after shutting the door. "Yes, you are," Tyler says, arms wound tight around Joy's waist. "You're going to sit on my lap, and we're going to watch the news."

" _No_."

" _Yes_." Tyler walks downstairs, Josh a few steps behind, and Joy begins to squirm. Tyler tightens their grip. "Stop."

"Make me."

Tyler doesn't do anything—not that Josh can see—but Joy stops squirming. She even gives up the fight, her small frame molding into Tyler's own lithe form. Josh reads it as a rest before the big battle.

Chaos is the glue in the basement. Tension in the air, the adults have control of the TV, while the kids lie defeated on the floor, limbs stretched out, fingertips touching to form a single line of agony. Joy swings her leg, the leg behind Tyler, so as to not trip them up in their walk toward the TV set.

"What's going on?" Tyler asks. Joy swings her leg faster, harder. Her eyes are closed.

Sarah has the remote. She says, "The power came on."

In their rush to the TV, no one's bothered to turn on the lights. They're standing in the dark, surrounding the large screen on the wall. Rightfully so, the news is playing, the anchor currently talking about the fires in North Dakota. Josh stands next to Brendon. Tyler sits on the couch and maneuvers Joy onto their lap. Joy squirms, wants to be on the floor with the other kids, but Tyler is firm, and she slumps against their chest with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

Brendon glances at Josh. "You doing okay?" A sling hangs from his neck, his arm stuck inside.

"Are  _you_  doing okay?"

Brendon laughs. "Did Tyler tell you? I got fucking shot."

"Yeah. Must've hurt."

"Yeah, well." Brendon goes back to the TV. "What 'bout you? How are your ribs?"

From the corner of his eye, Josh watches Tyler begin to braid Joy's hair. "I'm getting better. Doesn't hurt to breathe anymore."

"I wish I had some good news to tell you," a meteorologist says, "but I don't. I'm truly sorry. Just… hang in there. If you see smoke, leave the area. That's really all I can tell you."

"That's good," Brendon says.

"The police urge everyone to stay where you are while they make their rounds," a reporter says. "This will provide a smoother transition as we all prepare for the worst."

A boy on the floor, Knox, sobs.

Josh covers his face.

"These fires are random," a meteorologist says, on a loop, never stopping, wanting to stop and unable to stop. "We can't predict where they'll ignite next. If you see smoke, go the other way. If you see smoke, evacuate. If you see smoke—"

"We fucking die!" Joy exclaims.

Fingers in her hair, in the middle of a French braid, Tyler gently tugs, neck craned to press their lips to her ear. They whisper something. Joy rolls her eyes as a response.

Sarah is about to cry. Beside her, caught in the middle of her and Josh, Brendon says, "We should go home."

Sarah calls him an idiot.

Brendon goes, "Dallon," and the man on his knees by the sobbing boy raises his head and goes, "What?"

Brendon says, "We should go home."

Dallon calls him an idiot.

Brendon goes, "Tyler," and Tyler's already shaking their head and calling him an idiot.

Brendon looks at Josh, and Josh looks at his feet.

"We can't stay here," Brendon says. "If I'm going to die, I want to die in my own house."

"What changed?" Mark says, eyes on the television remote in Sarah's hand. "You wanted to leave."

"That was when nobody fucking knew what was gonna happen. All hyped on nonsense and adrenaline. Everybody wanted to fucking emigrate. Everybody wanted to fucking explore. I want to die in my bed."

Nobody says a thing.

Brendon looks tired, exhausted. His voice shakes. "Are you guys fucking serious right now? All of you would rather stay  _here_  than go  _home_?"

"I can't go home," Josh admits. "The building was ransacked. Someone killed my landlord. I can't go back."

"But all your shit—"

"It doesn't matter."

Brendon turns to Sarah, but she's staring at the TV. Brendon says, "Okay, fuck all of you guys. I'm going by myself."

"Brendon," Sarah sighs. "You can't fucking drive with one arm."

"I'll walk."

Sarah drops the remote and winds her arms around Brendon's neck. She hangs on and doesn't let go. No one makes a move toward the remote. Everybody is stationary, quiet, unremarkable.

They listen to a meteorologist pray for a thunderstorm.

*

The rest of the day is uneasy. With side-eyed stares and fake smiles, everybody waits for something to happen.

Tyler says, "I'm going to do laundry, since we have steady electricity." They say this to Josh and Joy, both occupying the bed with the floral comforter. The bed made, sheets dry, and for the first time, they have artificial light while the natural light fades outside.

"Okay," Josh says, on his phone, on Twitter. Because of the outage, Josh didn't miss a lot of tweets. Even Facebook is vacant. A few of his friends have checked in. Josh scrolls through his family's pages and is relieved to find they have all been active.

"Joy," Tyler says, "come with me."

"Fuck off," she mumbles.

Josh nudges her, an elbow in the ribs, and reminds her, "Language."

"Not you, too," she groans.

"Kids your age shouldn't talk like that."

"Oh, like you didn't?"

"I didn't. My parents would shove soap in my mouth if I talked back to them. Do you want me to do that? Do you want Tyler to stick soap in your mouth? I don't think we have bars of soap here. It'd have to be liquid."

Joy wrinkles her nose.

"That's what I thought. Go with Tyler."

She doesn't protest. She doesn't frown. She just climbs from the bed and walks from the room. Hamper held behind them with a hand covered by a sweatshirt, Tyler smiles at Josh and mumbles a "thanks". Josh offers a "no problem" before Tyler drags the hamper down the hallway, leaving the dorm room door cracked.

Josh hops from social media account to social media account, unable to get his fix. He searches for conspiracy theories online to make him feel sane, but he's back to picking at his nails and struggling to breathe. Nothing is scarier than the fear of the unknown.

Tyler returns by themself and empty-handed. Timid, they ask Josh, "Are you hungry?"

"No. Stomach hurts. Nerves. Eating wouldn't help."

"Eating  _would_  help. Something salty. Pretzels?"

"Okay, whatever."

This time, Tyler returns with Joy and a bag of pretzels. Joy's the one to give Josh the pretzels. She says to Tyler, "Can I go now?"

Tyler appears offended. "Don't you want to spend time with me?"

"You don't want to spend time with me."

"What gave you that impression?"

Josh breaks a pretzel in two, popping half of the stick into his mouth. He watches Joy and Tyler.

"You're never here anymore."

"I'm here right now!"

"That's not what I mean! You always leave, and you don't sleep with me anymore! You always sleep with Josh!"

"Because Josh was hurt! I was keeping an eye on him!"

"I don't have a leg!"

Tyler takes Joy into their arms, never mind the brace still on their elbow. She doesn't protest again. She bends, and she allows Tyler to lift her, hugging Tyler's waist with her thighs. Delicately, Tyler pushes a strand of hair from her face, away from the scab on her cheek. It looks better today. Tyler gives the scuff a kiss to help quicken the healing process. "Listen to me, Joy. I'm not replacing you." Tyler stares at Josh. Josh eats more pretzels. "Are you listening?" Tyler asks, and Joy nods her head, burrowing into Tyler's neck. "You're special to me," they say, and Josh watches Joy's shoulders tremble. Tyler closes their eyes. Josh watches Tyler's shoulders tremble, too. "You're special to me." Tyler rubs her back, the sleeve of the sweatshirt falling, exposing the charms. The charms sing. Tyler says, "You're so damn special to me."

Josh takes his bag of pretzels and his phone and leaves them alone.

*

The basement is as full as it always is, the kids now in possession of the TV. _SpongeBob SquarePants_ plays because it makes sense the last thing these kids will watch is a dancing yellow sponge. Josh sinks into a cushion on the couch, legs to the arm, bag of pretzels next to him, and munches and watches the dancing yellow sponge.

By the time he's finished the bag of pretzel sticks, the kids have marched upstairs with their parents' voices in their ears. It's dark outside, the lamps bright, the stars bright, and Josh wants to sleep and wake to the smell of heavy smoke in his nostrils. A thick black fog, Josh wants it to embrace his lungs. He wants to fall back to sleep with Tyler next to him.

Tyler's next to him. They're switching to the news, an arm behind their head. "I put the laundry up."

Josh looks at his hands.

Tyler turns off the TV, can't bear to watch it. Josh scoots closer to Tyler.

"We're leaving," Tyler whispers, right into Josh's ear. A secret among friends, Tyler says, "Middle of the night, we're leaving."

"I don't want to go home."

"You don't have to go home. You can stay with me."

Josh sets his head on Tyler's shoulder. Tyler's lips hide in his hair. "We're going to leave with Brendon and Sarah. Their car is big enough for us."

 _Us_. Josh curls into himself, the bag of pretzels deflating beneath him. "Okay."

*

Joy was fast asleep a minute ago, but she's the most active of them all. She's grabbing Josh's backpack and stuffing his clothes inside, and she's helping Tyler empty out the dresser and discard the contents into a duffel bag. She shuts her eyes at the sex toys, and Tyler leans in to give her forehead a wet kiss.

Josh doesn't want to move. He wants to continue sleeping.

"Get up," Joy tells him, and takes a pillow to beat Josh with it. "Get up, get up,  _get up_."

Josh eventually does, and Tyler's on him in moments, touching his face, touching his shoulders. "Josh, we gotta go." Tyler helps dress him. Layers and layers, Tyler tells Joy to turn around, and Tyler checks Josh's ribs. Their fingers skim along the thin skin over bone, and they look at Josh. "Please," they whisper.

"I'm scared," Josh whispers back, Tyler's hand on his breast, Tyler's thumb rubbing circles into his nipple. "I felt safe here."

"You felt safe because you were with people you trusted. We're just… relocating." Tyler's other hand comes up, and now both of Tyler's hands are on Josh's chest, on his breasts, and Josh nods, and Tyler nods and says, "We need to go."

Josh agrees. He gives in. "All right."

Tyler says, "I don't think we're the same cup size either, on second thought."

And Josh smiles, and Tyler kisses Josh's forehead, and they continue packing.

The last things they grab are their knives. Tyler sticks theirs in their sock, and Josh stuffs his in his belt loop. Joy has a pair of scissors. They're good enough for her.

Mark and his family are in the hallway, stepping in front of Tyler's door when they open it. Eyes awkwardly meet, and Joy and Jack race to see who can get outside first.

"I like how we're all hypocrites," Dallon says, down the hallway with his wife, their children running to catch up with Joy and Jack.

"Skye wanted to go," Mark reasons, and Skye narrows her eyes and says, "Don't believe a word he says."

In the lobby, the kids are standing in front of Brendon. Sarah is by the front door, looking out, looking up.

Brendon says, "I got down here an hour ago, so I could… split up everything we had and pass it out to everybody. But those fucking assholes we let guard our shit and our  _Goddamn lives_  took our shit."

Tyler's eyes go wide. "Everything?"

"Not  _everything_. They… they left us one gun." Brendon holds it up for all to see. "So, who wants it?"

No one volunteers. No one says a thing.

From the front door, Sarah suggests, "We should leave it."

So, they do.

Battered cardboard boxes hide in trunks, full with pain medication, bandages, laundry detergent. Tyler and Josh's share have the testosterone.

In separate cars they depart, not even offering goodbyes or words of encouragement or security. Dallon and Brendon share lingering looks, but as soon as Dallon's car vanishes beyond their viewpoint, Brendon acts as if he, Sarah, Josh, Tyler, and Joy were the ones here since the beginning of it all.

"Let's go," he says, and nobody misses the shine in his eyes.

"Wait," Tyler says, letting go of Joy's hand to dig inside their backpack. "I need to do something."

Tyler pulls out a can of spray paint. It takes no time at all for them to tag the side of the dormitory.

 _Everything will be okay_ , it reads, in yellow, with suns for the dots of the  _i_.

They take a moment to marvel, standing there, Tyler holding Joy's hand again, and Brendon with his arm in a sling.

Josh decides he would be okay if he were never to see another human being again. Brendon is weeping by now, and Sarah has a hand on his shoulder.

"I stole from my ex-boyfriend," Josh admits then. "His iPod, food, money. I took his wallet and whatever he had stored away."

Josh says, "I have over a thousand dollars in my backpack," and Joy immediately lets go of Tyler's hand to hold Josh's. Brendon laughs at this, a saving grace.

Sarah's Beetle holds them, and she's only a little peeved at the missing side mirror and door handle. "At least we still have a car."

They drive, Sarah and Brendon up front, Josh in the middle seat and Joy on Tyler's lap, not wanting to leave. Her braid is coming undone, but Tyler tells her they'll fix it when they get home.

"I can't go home," she says, low, only for Tyler's ears. "You—"

"Hush," Tyler says, and it isn't scolding. They hug her. She kisses the bruise on their cheek, still as ugly and purple as this morning.

If Josh looks behind him, and he does this often, he can see smoke in the distance. He doesn't say this. Sarah is driving, and she makes eye contact with Josh in the rear-view mirror. She knows, and Josh knows, and Brendon is asleep, and Joy is asleep, and Tyler is rubbing her side and influencing her dreams with their soft voice, their soothing voice.

"Some say the world will end in fire," they murmur, fingers curling around Joy's hip, "some say in ice."

Josh's head falls to Tyler's shoulder.

"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire… but if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate—"

Tyler leans into Josh. Cheek against head, against hair, it's welcome. It's needed.

"—to say that for destruction, ice is also great"—Tyler holds Josh's hand—"and would suffice."


	5. Comfortable

Brendon's nose presses to the glass of the car's window, his fingers clutching the pane as he uses it for leverage to lift himself, to look outside, to squint, to puff, puff, puff the last of his cigarette. "Josh," he whisper-shouts, "we don't have any toilet paper."

On the side of the road, with his pants around his ankles, squatting behind a threadbare bush, Josh says, "Thanks for the update, Brendon."

From behind his bush, Josh props his elbows on his knees and tilts his head toward the sky, black, so black. He can't smell smoke, but he can see it.

"Josh," Brendon says, another attempt at whispering and shouting. " _Hurry_."

Joy's asleep. Tyler, as well. They haven't noticed the car's stopped. Sarah adjusts her mirrors.

"Okay," Josh says, and tries ignoring how warm his piss is against his thighs. He pulls up his pants and shuffles toward the car. "Sorry, couldn't hold it anymore."

"We're almost there." Brendon looks at Sarah for reassurance. She smiles, and Brendon repeats, "We're almost there."

Tyler stirs, but doesn't open their eyes. Their legs might be numb.

"Good," Josh says. "Keep going."

Sarah turns onto the road. She drives.

*

Unlike Josh's apartment building, this one is relatively well maintained—or, at least, respected. Perhaps due to the sorts of people living in his building, it would make sense for Josh's apartment to be looted and the target of multiple homicides. When it comes to the structure in front of them, it looks as if it's home to married couples, young couples, families with children—and that would make sense from the people Josh has seen. Excluding the group who took off with most of the guns, Josh considers everybody  _good people_. Maybe a little wounded, but nobody is completely unscathed.

It makes Josh want to know why no one from the dormitory is returning. The place seems decent enough. Josh can see lights in some windows. Tyler's awake at this moment, and they lean forward to point at the third floor, where none of the windows are lit. "That's our floor," they tell Josh. "I live near the middle."

"And he loves keeping everybody up with his late-night jam sessions."

Tyler looks down, at Joy, still fast asleep. Josh furrows his brow and looks ahead, up at the building. "Is there room for me?" he asks.

Tyler looks small, like they shouldn't even be holding Joy close to their chest. "I'll make room."

"We're right next door," Sarah says, turning off the car's engine and dropping the keys into her jacket pocket. "So… if you need extra room, another bed, you can stay in our spare."

"I don't want to be a burden." Josh stares at Joy.

Tyler shakes their head. "You won't be, dude. Come on, I'm tired. Joy's out like a light. She needs a bed."

They all shuffle from the car and stand to stretch their legs, except Tyler. Tyler has Joy on their hip, their eyes set on the apartment building in front of them. They're antsy, shifting their weight from side to side as they wait for Josh to take their designated box from the trunk. They don't tell Josh to hurry, but their eyes scream it. Josh hurries. He can see a metal tin of crayons in their box.

Silently, like ghosts returning to their graves for the night, Brendon and Sarah go into their home, and Tyler, Josh, and Joy go into the unit next door. The hallways are lit and neat, but the opposite can be said of Tyler's place of residence. Josh wants to believe it's due to looting, but it's an organized chaos. No looters would leave a place just shy of acceptable. Tyler sets their keys on the countertop, Joy still fast asleep by their side. "Wanna help me with her?" Tyler asks Josh, and Josh nods after dropping the cardboard box on the counter.

Duffel bags and backpacks left in the living room, by the couch, Josh and Tyler travel to a bedroom—Tyler's bedroom, judging by the lack of color and life inside. "Bigger bed," they whisper, and Josh supposes that makes sense. "Pull down the covers."

Josh does, and Tyler delicately lays Joy underneath them. They work quickly and gently, taking off her shoe, tugging off her jeans. She keeps on her play shorts, twisting onto her side to get comfortable, and Tyler keeps their eyes on her to slowly ease the prosthetic from her leg. "In my backpack," Tyler says, placing the prosthetic on the carpet, "it's, like… an elastic sleeve… a white color. Could you get that for me?"

"Sure, yeah."

Tyler takes it when Josh passes it over, and slips it over Joy's leg. "Helps with compression," Tyler tells Josh, catching his unwavering gazes. "Not supposed to sleep with the prosthetic on."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, that's what she said." Tyler doesn't pull off any more of her clothing. She curls into a ball, a sock on her foot and a long-sleeve shirt on her torso, sleeves too big for her arms.

A parting kiss to her cheek, Tyler touches Josh's arm and guides him from the room. Despite being tired, Tyler doesn't seem to want to sleep. They drop onto the sofa, head tilted back against the cushions, the wall. Eyes wide, dark circles beneath them, Tyler pushes off their shoes with their feet and pulls their legs onto the couch. They hug them.

Josh stands in the middle of the room. "She, uh—Joy—she told me her… her mom told her she was part robot."

Tyler's cheek twitches. "She did?"

"Yeah."

"She said 'mom'?"

"Well, 'mommy', but… yeah."

"Mommy," Tyler mumbles, placid, and then they're leaning forward, their arms tight, tight, tight around their thighs to aid in rocking back and forth, back and forth. Their shoulders shake, and they struggle to catch their breath. Josh sits next to them, touching everything—arms, legs, knees, face, face.

Josh presses their foreheads together. "Why are you crying?"

Tyler shakes their head. Josh can feel their acne rubbing against his brow.

"Is that a bad thing? Is she not supposed to say that?"

"No, no, no." Tyler sucks in an inhale and holds it.

Josh pulls Tyler into a hug, and Tyler clings to Josh's upper arm, fingers like claws. "Tyler—"

"I'm her mommy," Tyler admits. "I'm her mommy, I'm her mommy, I'm her mommy."

It sounds like a prayer. It sounds like a revelation. It sounds like the best thing in the world.

Josh keeps Tyler to his chest and sleeps with his shoes on his feet, layers sweltering, and his beanie hiding greasy hair from a limited audience. Josh sleeps, and he thinks this won't be the last time he falls asleep to Tyler crying.

*

Tyler going through cabinets rouses Josh. The sun's out, the curtains drawn. Tyler's shirtless, hair damp, shoulders and arms shiny with gel. "Hey," they say, catching Josh's eye. "Do you want coffee? A shower?"

"Shower's good."

Tyler continues to stare at Josh. "The gel's in the medicine cabinet. I have a… razor, too, if you want to… shave."

"Couldn't get me to shave before, not gonna get me to shave now." Josh smiles, and Tyler smiles, too.

"You don't look bad," Tyler says, "just, y'know, if you wanted my opinion."

"Why do you keep pressuring me to shave then?"

Tyler shrugs. Their cheeks are pink. They turn their back to Josh. "Go shower."

Josh relishes in the warm water. Clothes in a pile on the floor, Josh climbs into the tub and spends more time under the spray getting clean than inching his fingers between his legs. He's more preoccupied with washing, with scrubbing, and he doesn't notice he hasn't gotten off until he's rubbing Androgel over his shoulders. He doesn't need to get off—at least not today.

"Do you need clothes?" Tyler knocks on the door.

"Yeah."

Josh looks at his reflection. He is tired. He's terrified.

Tyler knocks on the door again. "Just grabbed whatever was on top. What did you want to do today?"

Modesty is gone. Josh isn't shy, and Tyler isn't bothered. They enter the bathroom and shut the door behind them. "Have you watched the news any?" Josh takes the clothes and begins dressing. He saves the shirt for when the gel on his body dries.

"Got on my phone a bit. They still don't know what's going to happen."

"Where are the fires now?"

"New York, Brooklyn area."

"Shit."

"Tell me 'bout it." Tyler crosses their arms over their chest. "Do you think the fire… is going to come here? Should we move?"

Josh shrugs.

Tyler shrugs with him.

Josh says, "Maybe we should do what Brendon does."

"Brendon wants to die in his bed."

"Then we do that."

Tyler's about to say something when Joy knocks on the door. Timid, she knocks only twice. "Are you guys both in there?"

"Yeah, girlie, what do you want?"

"Could I have Froot Loops?"

"Should be some in the cabinet by the sink." Tyler pauses. "You're getting a shower after you eat."

"Okay."

"Will you need my help?"

"I don't think so."

"All right, doll."

Joy's footsteps fade.

Tyler returns to Josh. "We're not dying."

Josh chews on the inside of his cheek.

Tyler closes their eyes. "We're not going to die."

From the kitchen, Joy shouts, "The milk smells funny."

Tyler laughs. Josh pulls on his shirt.

*

Josh asks when Joy is in the shower.

"You're not her… real mom, are you?"

"I'm her mom," Tyler says, balancing a Red Bull can on their thigh. They and Josh sit on the couch, watching the news, waiting for the inevitable.

"What I mean," Josh says, picking at his nails, "is you're not her…  _biological_  mom. You didn't give birth to her."

"Why couldn't I?"

"Because it's not possible for you to have a fucking kid when you're thirteen years old."

"It's possible—"

"It's not plausible."

Tyler is quiet.

Josh frowns. "I hope her dad is rotting in jail if you did give birth to her."

"I didn't give birth to her," Tyler confesses. "You're right. But that doesn't make her any less my daughter."

"I didn't say it didn't."

Tyler takes a sip of Red Bull. "How'd you figure it out? That she wasn't my daughter."

"Only just now connected the dots."

"Oh, really? What was the last dot?"

"This apartment isn't child friendly. It doesn't look like a child has even spent a weekend here."

Tyler is, once again, quiet.

"So, between the time you left this apartment with Brendon and got to the dormitory, she came into your life." Josh looks down at his toes. "Were you… saving her? Did you save her?"

Tyler takes another drink.

"Tyler, please tell me you didn't  _kidnap_  her."

Once more, Tyler is quiet.

Josh presses his palms together. "Tyler, _please_."

"I could have left her there, but I didn't." Tyler brings their legs onto the couch, criss-cross applesauce, elbows to knees, can of Red Bull stuck between calf muscle and thigh. The can dents, half-empty. "I was out exploring. Just walking around, getting my hands into everything. I met people in passing, saying hello, talking about the weather. It's not a surprise to you by now that I like to… that when I go out, I tend to disappear for weeks. So, anyway… I came across this park, and I found this little family. Joy was there. She was on a swing, and she… she…"

Josh touches Tyler's back.

Tyler wipes their eyes. "I don't kill people," they say.

"Not directly," Josh finishes.

"I followed them for… two days, no more than three. I wish I could say I felt this pull toward her, that she was my long-lost kid or some stupid shit like that, but it wasn't like that. Her parents were so fucking—" Tyler shakes their head. They don't stop.

Josh pulls Tyler into their chest. Tyler grabs the Red Bull and makes sure it doesn't spill.

"I didn't kill them. I should have, but I didn't. Joy was so happy to be away from them. She wouldn't stop crying. She wouldn't let go of me that first night. I came back, and I thought lying would be better. I told Sarah and Brendon my mom was looking over her, so I went to get her because of the world ending. Brendon took it at face value. He thought it was believable since we both had dark skin and eyes, but Sarah didn't believe me, just like you didn't believe me. She took me aside and told me she didn't care where I found Joy. She just wanted to make sure I was taking care of her."

"And you are."

Tyler raises their head, Josh following. Joy's standing in the doorway, towel wrapped around her shoulders. Shivering in a puddle by her feet, Joy stares at Tyler with her black eyes, the scrape on her cheek not a scrape, but a scar. It was never a scab or a scratch or a scrape. It was always a scar.

"Baby." Tyler wipes their eyes, sniffing, shoving the can of Red Bull to Josh. They walk toward and drop to their knees in front of her. "You didn't dry off that well. Did you remember to take off your leg?"

She's quiet—like mother like daughter.

Tyler guides Joy into the bathroom. "Let's get you dry."

Josh finishes the rest of the Red Bull. He can hear Tyler and Joy.

"You don't have to cry, Mommy."

"I'm not crying."

"Whatever you say."

"I love you a lot, okay? Do you know that?"

"Yes, I do."

*

Using the coffee table as their makeshift easel, Josh sits with Joy and paints with her. "Mixed media," she says, and dumps out the crayons once the acrylic paint dries.

Josh told himself it was something abstract, but with more paint and now with the addition of crayons, he realizes he's creating a scene of a spaceship with little gray men jumping out with parachutes on their backs. Joy's drawing a dog. Tyler pat her on the head when she had the basic outline done, and asked her, "Is that going to be a cute little dog?"

Joy scowled. "No. It's gonna be big and black and brown with dark eyes and sharp teeth." Tyler laughed, supposed to laugh at that kind of stuff when being a parent.

As it progressed, and as Josh continued to sit with her, the dog develops. It's nasty, menacing, blood dripping from its stark-white canines. Tyler's left the apartment at this time, said they might visit Sarah and Brendon, so Josh sits with Joy, hands in his lap, feeling a tad silly to have focused so much of his time on his aliens with parachutes.

"Who's that?" Josh points at the dog. "Have you seen it before?"

Joy is hesitant. "Only in my dreams."

"Is it… is it a nice dog?" It's ridiculous to ask, considering the sight mere inches from his own artwork, but Josh asks, and Joy smiles.

"Yeah! She just got done killing some poor bastard and his evil family."

"So, it's a girl dog now?"

"Yes." Joy blinks. She pauses in her coloring.

"Language," Josh says, and Joy nods and continues coloring the black mass of the dog's body.

Tyler hasn't come back. The front door is left open for any neighbors to walk past and see the man and small child crowded around the coffee table and some sheets of printer paper.

"Did you make my mommy cry this morning?"

Josh presses his lips together, a flat line, sad. "I didn't mean to, if I did. Just wanted to know more about you."

"You could'a just asked me. It's rude to talk behind someone's back."

"You know what's rude to do now, yeah?"

Joy narrows her eyes.

Josh smiles. He grabs a white crayon and tries blending the grays of his alien bodies.

"You have the same hips as my mommy," Joy says, repeating her earlier observation.

"Easier to hug," Josh mumbles, sick to his stomach.

"Does that mean you're like them, too?"

"I… I don't know." Josh sets the crayon on the coffee table and sits on his hands. "Just because I have the same hips as them doesn't mean I'm like them."

"Brendon calls them 'he', even though they have a shirt with 'they' on it. They even told me they want me to call them 'they'. I think people use 'he' when they talk about you. Do you use 'they' like my mom?"

Josh smiles, faint. "No, I use 'he'."

Joy nods. She grabs a brown crayon and grinds the tip into the dog's chest. "You use the same medicine as my mom. So… you're like them in that way."

"Some people take the same medication. Doesn't mean their similarities go beyond that."

Joy says, "You're right."

Josh says, "You're smart. You know the word."

"Transgender," she says.

Josh smiles fully then, and he says, "Yes."

"They said they're transmasculine or something. Is that like you?"

"It could be. That means they feel… more masculine than feminine, but that doesn't always equal being a… a guy, yeah? Tyler, uh, your mommy, they just prefer being masculine."

"And that doesn't mean they're a guy."

"It doesn't. They're a guy if they say they're a guy, so until then… Um, did they ever tell you, like, beyond the pronoun thing?" Josh rocks side to side, taking his hands out from under him. "Did they by any chance mention the word 'agender'?"

Joy furrows her brow. "That sounds familiar."

Josh nods. "That would make sense. Do you know what that means?"

"Using  _A_  as a prefix means 'without', so it would mean… without gender?"

"You're very smart, Joy." Josh presses his elbows onto the coffee table and leans forward.

Joy mimics this movement. She can't lean forward that well because of her leg. "Thank you." She's smug.

"It can also be treated as being gender neutral, and the gender neutral pronoun is 'they'."

"Mommy told me they wanted a beard. I told them this morning, when they were braiding my hair again, that their face was getting fuzzy, and then they started crying again."

Josh pretends he doesn't tear up at that. "Do you know why they prefer being called 'mommy'? That's not what… I would have expected."

Joy shrugs at that. "Maybe it felt right. Could you pass me the white crayon?"

"Here you go."

Joy asks, "Does 'daddy' feel right to you?" She raises her head, white crayon in a tight fist.

"It does," Josh replies, "but not right now."

Joy mulls this over.

Josh asks, "Does 'daughter' feel right to you?"

"I like it when Mommy calls me 'girlie'. It's stupid, but I like it." Joy's voice is a whisper now. "They told me they're sorry for not sleeping with me that much the past few days. They feel guilty, but they said… they s-said it wasn't just because of you being hurt. They told me not to feel bad because they said it wasn't my fault, but they want…" Joy's trying to hold in laughter. "They  _like_  you."

Josh actually laughs, and it gives Joy the affirmative to laugh, too. "They  _like_  me?"

"They  _like-like_  you."

"Must be pretty serious."

Joy continues her coloring, using the white crayon to blend, Josh's aliens as an example. She does a better job at it. "Very serious."

Tyler appears. In the doorway, a plastic jug full of milk in their arms, Tyler shuffles into the apartment. Slippers on their feet, a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt, Tyler is slow in their walk to the fridge. "Brendon could part with some milk."

"Good," Joy says. "I want milk with my cereal in the morning."

Tyler sticks the milk into the refrigerator. "What were you two talking about when I was gone?"

"I'm surprised you came back. I was expecting you to walk through the door two weeks from now."

Tyler stares at the fridge and its contents. They don't say anything for a long time. "I wouldn't do that."

"Okay."

Josh stands to go piss.

*

Their first day home— _home, home, home_ —is uneventful. Josh and Joy color, Tyler gets on their phone, and nobody talks. Nobody even attempts to talk. Joy doesn't ask questions. She hasn't stopped drawing the dog.

When it gets dark outside, Joy goes to bed without Tyler reminding her; she's the one to remind Tyler. "Are you going to tuck me in?"

Tyler hums, dropping their phone to the cushions. "Want me to sing you a lullaby, too?"

"Maybe." Joy's eyes stray toward the window.

Tyler scoops her up. "Don't think about that."

"It's so dark outside—"

"Don't think about that."

"I'm—"

" _Don't think about that._ "

With Tyler in the bedroom with Joy, Josh claims the couch for himself, stretching out his legs, hips popping and rolling his shoulders into the pillows Tyler used as support. Out of sheer curiosity, Josh checks Tyler's phone, his own on the counter, plugged into a wall outlet with Adam's iPod charging next to it. Tyler assured Josh could do whatever it took to get comfortable here. "You can stay as long as you want," they said, and so Josh tried. His clothes were still confined to his backpack, and he dared not flash the money he stole. Tyler's knife, Josh's, and Joy's scissors are three little soldiers standing guard of Josh's electronics and a bowl of rotting fruit.

A forum post on their phone, Tyler had been reading about the probability of the power and water going out again. The responses Josh reads seem to think the facilities were shut off due to the initial panic, and thus they'll stay on for the remainder of whatever is going on. One user claims the fires won't stay for too long, and that the areas that weren't affected by the fires will be hit by the next disaster, as if nature and its mother would know precise locations such as this. Josh lies there, listening to Tyler sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider", and thinks it would make sense for the Earth to know what's happened and where. Josh remembers meeting a girl on one of his first visits outside. She said Mother Nature was pissed, and then she took Josh home, and they fucked on her couch.

"And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again."

Josh wipes his eyes.

Tyler's sliding along the carpet at their reappearance. They're being careful, quiet, Joy on her way to dreaming peacefully. Maybe tired—tired from something other than exhaustion, Tyler turns their head and doesn't get mad at Josh for touching their phone. "Hey," they say, and start toward the couch. "Wanna watch some TV?"

"Are you sick of the news yet?"

The shake of their head is more pathetic than anything else. Tyler sits next to Josh while Josh pushes himself up and finds the remote. Josh surfs the different news stations. Tyler leans forward and goes through Joy's drawings. "Does she want a dog?"

"She told me she had a dream about it.  _Many_  dreams about it. What d'ya think it means?" Josh props his head with a hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the couch. "Did she have a dog when she…?"

Tyler rubs their eyes. "No, I don't remember seeing a dog." The cushions groan. Tyler leans back, feet pressing into the coffee table, touching their thighs. "There wasn't a dog. Did you see anything online?"

Josh shrugs. "Whole lotta…" He shrugs again.

Tyler takes their phone and sets it on the coffee table, atop one of Josh's many amateur drawings. Tyler smiles at them. "Aliens?" Tyler looks at Josh. "Is that how the world actually ends?"

"It's better than… than…"

"Yeah."

Slowly, Tyler settles down, legs on their way to press to their chest. And slowly, they close their eyes.

"You can go in there with Joy, y'know. You… you don't have to stay with me."

"I want to, though." It's soft.

Josh closes his eyes.

Tyler scoots closer to Josh before getting up from the sofa. They check the front door to see if it's locked, and they even tiptoe down the hallway to peek in on Joy. Their results must be satisfactory, as they come into the living room and climb onto the sofa. "Lemme check your ribs."

"Why? They don't hurt." Josh eases up his shirt anyway and tilts his body toward Tyler. Like the bruising on Tyler's cheek, Josh's torso is yellow. Like the bruising on Tyler's cheek, Josh's torso is warm. Like the bruising on Tyler's cheek, Josh's torso deserves to be touched.

Tyler touches first. It's expected. They're checking Josh's ribs, their thumb running along the curve of Josh's ribs, the tip cautious as they skim the underside of Josh's breast.

Josh touches next. It's expected. Warm palm to Tyler's warm cheek—getting steadily warmer the longer Josh touches—he doesn't want to stop touching. Tyler's thumb may be stroking soft skin, but Josh is stroking soft skin laced with fuzz. Joy was right; Tyler's already growing stubble. Josh says this. He says, "Your face is fuzzy," and Tyler's forehead is to Josh's forehead, and they don't say a thing, but they want to say something, but they can't. Their hand is firm against Josh's ribs, unwavering, and Josh tilts his head up, Tyler's forehead dropping to press into Josh's shoulder. Josh keeps his hand to Tyler's cheek. He can't part. He says, "If you want to feel me up, this is me giving you permission."

Tyler's hands, both of them, they're shaking now. Tyler doesn't raise their head, just keeps it on Josh's shoulder as they roam warm palms along Josh's chest, up to his breasts. Tyler squeezes, cups, and they lower their head to wrap lips around a nipple and suck.

"Oh," Josh mumbles, curving his hand to hold the back of Tyler's head. "You're doing that."

"Wan'me to stop?"

"No. Don't. Please."

Tyler sticks out their tongue, dragging the width of it up, slow, agonizing. They go in circles, the tip now a prominent feature, and then they suck, and then they do the very same to Josh's other nipple.

"That's—shit."

Josh spreads his legs. Tyler gets between them, going right back to Josh's chest. Kneading, like a kitten, Tyler peppers a wet kiss to Josh's nipple, the underside of Josh's breast, his sternum, and onto his stomach. Tyler's lips are chapped, but they wet their lips and drag them up, up, up, until they're touching Josh's breasts again and leaning forward, forehead to forehead. Josh can feel them tremble. He holds the sides of Tyler's neck, and he can feel he's trembling, too.

"Shit," he says, because it's all he can say.

Tyler fixes Josh's shirt, pulling it down, but they don't look away from Josh. They're staring, blushing, smiling. It's a smile that makes Josh's heart race, that makes Josh want to get under a blanket and grin in the darkness. But it's also a smile that makes Josh spread his legs that much more, that makes Josh pull Tyler in, that makes Josh connect their mouths in a swift move that only knocks their noses together. A rush of air leaving nostrils, they're both smiling, both fighting the urge to laugh, both clutching shoulders and necks to reconnect in a successful kiss this time. This time, they don't bang noses. This time, Josh kisses Tyler, and Tyler kisses Josh.

It's all tongue, wet lips. Tyler's nervous, but Josh becomes the leader. He swoops Tyler in, takes care of them, and Tyler learns to breathe through their nose without laughing.

Eventually Josh wonders aloud what's got Tyler in a fit of laughter, and Tyler kisses Josh's face all over, whispering, "Finally, finally,  _finally_."

"My ribs—"

"Yeah— _yes_."

"I would have fucked you right in that pharmacy if I wasn't struggling to breathe." Josh shoves Tyler lightly, making room so he can swing his legs around, sitting on the couch proper. "C'mere," he says, and Tyler scrambles onto his lap. Not a straddle, but an actual sitting, Tyler's toes hide between the couch cushion and the arm of the couch, literally vibrating from anticipation.

"You gonna fuck me now?" they ask, voice barely above audible volume, either scared of eavesdroppers or scared of their own nerves.

Josh kisses Tyler's mouth, and Tyler relaxes. A hug makes Tyler melt even further into a setting of pure comfort. That's all Josh can want right now. He wants Tyler comfortable. He wants Tyler to spread their legs and squirm.

He plans to do exactly that.

"Let's see what we're working with here."

Josh tucks his fingers into Tyler's waistband and tugs. Tyler lifts their hips, then sits back down before Josh can remove the clothing. "I'm, uh… I'm  _bleeding_."

"Well, lemme—" A titter-totter movement, Josh maneuvers Tyler wherever possible in order to push the legs of his shorts up to expose his thighs, so as to not get any stains on his clothes, if it came to that. "There, now I can—"

"I'm at the end of my cycle," Tyler says, lifting their hips again, their clothes leaving their body. Josh glances at the pad in Tyler's underwear and sees black blood, brown blood, old blood. He makes sure it doesn't get anywhere, though, as a precaution. "I'm at the end of my cycle," Tyler repeats, because it's relevant as to the state of the hair between their legs. "I haven't been able to groom—"

"I don't care," Josh says. "I really couldn't care less about the state of your pubic hair." Josh feels along it, the thick forest of dark curls. Tyler's shaking, snaking an arm around Josh's neck as their other hand rests on their thigh.

Head hanging low to watch Josh comb through their pubes, Tyler mutters, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me." Josh nods. "I actually really love pubes."

"You can't even see anything."

"I can't see anything because it's dark in here, not because of—"

"Lemme turn on a—"

"Don't you fucking dare move."

Tyler shivers. Josh laughs. Tyler laughs with him. "Come on, dude," Tyler says. "I want you to see me."

"Fucking romantic." Josh removes his hand, and Tyler leans forward, struggling to flip on the floor lamp next to the couch. It's a reach, causing Tyler to get on their knees. The light is dim, doesn't really provide that much support, but it's enough for the ugly yellow bruises on Tyler's ass and thighs to show themselves. Josh only notices them after smacking his palm into Tyler's ass. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he says, Tyler covering their mouth to muffle their gasp of surprise and shame. "I didn't know you were—"

"I fell a lot," they admit, a little out of breath. "I didn't know it would hurt that much."

Silence, and then, "Spank me again."

Josh does.

Tyler shuts their eyes. They wiggle their hips, and Josh can't help but to squeeze Tyler's ass and pull them onto his lap again. "Fucking hell. Look at you. You deserve everything I'm about to give you."

"You mean that?"

Josh kisses Tyler's shoulder. "Yeah. I do. Spread your legs, just like before. There we go. Lemme look at you."

"Am I supposed to be embarrassed?"

"Are you?"

"No, but am I supposed to be?"

"I don't think so. You should be—"

"Comfortable." Tyler looks down at themself, along with Josh. "I'm comfortable."

"Good." Josh tangles his fingers in Tyler's pubes, careful as he cards his fingers through the thicket. Even with the light being dim, Josh can see the pink of Tyler's cunt, already aroused. "I'm gonna—" Josh sticks his thumb in his mouth, using both of his hands now. With one, he spreads Tyler open, index and middle finger, palm flat against Tyler's pubic mound. The other, with the damp thumb, he uses to pull back the hood of Tyler's clit, exposing the small bud. "You're fucking throbbing."

"Want you to fucking—"

"Yeah, yeah." Josh wraps his arm around Tyler's waist, sticking his fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes remnants of iron. "It's so tiny." Spit on his lips, spit on his fingers, Josh lightly pats Tyler's cunt. Tyler closes their eyes. Josh kisses their shoulder again, their shirt smelling of something floral. "Wait until you're on testosterone for a few months—a fucking year. Your clit, it'll—"

"Don't tell me. I want to see yours."

"Not yet. I want to get you off." Josh holds Tyler firmly in place, cheek to Tyler's shoulder. "Now… let's see how wet I can make you."

"I'm already wet."

"Yeah, I can feel it on my thigh."

"Does it feel good?"

"Makes me thirsty."

"Gross." Tyler smiles. They spread their legs more, angling their hips a bit, predicting Josh's next moves with ease. "Rub my clit a little more," they say. "It'll make me super loose."

Josh does without question. He doesn't talk either, just answers Tyler's request with spitting on his fingers and swirling them over Tyler's clit. Tyler's hard beneath him, swelled. The fucking heat is enough for Josh to reach his climax by itself. Tyler watching him work, too—that'll make Josh lose it quite quickly. "Do you like it like this?"

"Go a little slower. Tease me. You're not making me come yet."

Josh switches it up a bit, going clockwise from counterclockwise, from three fingers to just his thumb. Tyler's hips twitch, their feet arch, and they whisper a chant of "shit, shit, shit, shit, shit".

Between Tyler's legs, spilling from their cunt, is wet, thick in spots, stringy, and brown. Josh smells it, too, and he feels Tyler contracting against his thigh. "Hey," Josh says, abandoning Tyler's clit in favor of slipping a single finger down Tyler's cunt, parting their labia and sliding down into the drenched curls at Tyler's perineum.

"Hi," Tyler says, voice cracking. "How's it going?"

"Look at me."

Tyler turns their head. They're pink all over, a bead of sweat going down their temple and falling down their cheek like a tear. Josh stares at Tyler, and Tyler stares at Josh, and Josh presses in a finger. Tyler sighs. Tyler says, "I haven't, like, been with another person for a… a very long time."

"That's okay." Josh readjusts his arm around Tyler's waist. He removes his finger and slides it back inside. "Just… toys are great."

"Gosh, don't I know it." Tyler sniffs, scratching their nose. "Add another finger. Can't really…"

"Feel anything?"

"I want to feel  _more_."

Ring finger and middle, Josh pushes them inside Tyler until he's in up to his knuckles. He moves them around, in a circle, and he angles his wrist, curling his fingers up, up, and Tyler tilts their head back and groans. "Right fucking there," they say.

Josh moves his fingers inside Tyler, in and out, curving his hand around to give their clit a stroke every now and then. For the most part, Josh focuses on getting Tyler to lose themself with—

"Fuck," Tyler hisses, hips briefly leaving Josh's thighs. "I'm so full. Three fingers is—are—"

Josh kisses Tyler's mouth. "Want to fill you up. Want to fuck you so fucking well." Josh moves his arm, fast, his fingers leaving and entering Tyler's cunt, his palm rubbing Tyler's clit on every entrance. Tyler's wet, dripping, and Josh thinks it's the best sound in the world. He works Tyler into a mess. Tyler uses their arm around Josh's neck to lift themself off his lap. It's just a hover, nothing to be concerned over, and Josh welcomes it. Inching toward an orgasm causes his body to tip toward previously unknown angles, especially on tiptoe and tensing every muscle he didn't know he had. Tyler may be sore in the morning. They'll need to sleep in a bed to ensure a safe transition. Tyler might not want to sleep in a bed with Joy after this.

"I'm gonna—I think—"

Josh tries to maintain the pace he's acquired, but his wrist cramps. He hangs on, and Tyler takes over when it comes to rubbing their clit. They're quick with this, possibly quicker than Josh has been with it tonight, but it doesn't matter. Tyler wants to get off. Sometimes sex is just as simple as spending time with each other, but sometimes it's dirty and selfish, and this is that. Tyler's fucking themself on Josh's fingers, too, a foot on the carpet and a foot flat on the couch cushion.

"Okay," Tyler mumbles, shaking their wrist and returning to rubbing their clit. "I'm going numb. I'm—" Tyler doesn't finish their sentence. They're coming, clenching around Josh's fingers, becoming a heavy weight when they fall onto Josh's thighs and squirm, squirm, and squirt over Josh's hand. Thankfully controlled and thankfully not a lot of expulsion, Josh is just as surprised as Tyler at their endeavor.

"I was trying to make you do that," Josh confesses, "but I didn't know if you were gonna do it."

"What? Make me piss on myself?"

"Did it feel like you pissing yourself?"

"Not really." Tyler pants, swallows. "Can I taste it?"

"Uh. Here's some of it." Pooled in the lines of Josh's palm, Josh tips it into Tyler's mouth. Tyler catches most of it and licks their lips. Josh sticks his fingers in his mouth, brown and pruned.

Tyler shrugs. "I've tasted better. My pre-come is better." Tyler watches Josh, still finding it hard to breathe. There's a ring of sweat around the neck of their t-shirt. "Your eyes," they start, "they're like—"

"Please don't say 'mocha'."

"Mud," Tyler finishes, "on a rainy day, with little lightning bugs inside."

Josh pops his fingers from his mouth. "Damn, dude."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Josh pulls Tyler in close, kissing their cheek, their mouth. Tyler tastes themself and relishes in that fact.

"Wanna taste you," Tyler says, and stands from Josh's lap. "Um, first—" They drop to their knees and lick off the old blood and come that escaped their cunt during the fuck.

Josh watches with wide eyes. "Wow."

"Pass me my clothes." Tyler dresses, a smile on their face, and remains on their knees. "Up, up," Tyler says, and Josh lifts his hips and wastes no time in spreading his legs and getting comfortable. With one leg stretched over the arm of the couch and the other with his foot propped on the coffee table, Josh is open for Tyler to see, and normally, Josh would be hesitant to do such a thing like this. Whether it's due to just getting off Tyler moments prior, or if he's too aroused to care, or if it's simply because of  _Tyler_  is unknown. Josh has his legs open, and Tyler has their head laying on their arms as they gaze at Josh's cunt.

"I think I'm in love," Tyler whispers.

"Shut up." Josh's face is hot.

"You're so fucking hairy… so fucking  _perfect_ —shit." Tyler pushes onto their elbows and gets in close, using both of their hands, like Josh with them, to unveil Josh's clit. "I'm literally gonna start crying," Tyler says. "You're beautiful, Josh. I can, like"—Tyler spits on their fingers and touches Josh's clit with thumb and index finger—"jerk you off like this. Is this how you masturbate? You could definitely  _jerk_  off."

"Yeah, I do. Just like this. Sometimes I rub it, too, like you do."

Tyler's amazed. They're still working their thumb and finger over Josh's clit. "Which feels better?"

"Different sensations. I like 'em both."

The corner of Tyler's mouth twitches into a smile. "You like a mouth better, right?"

"Fuck, yeah."

Tyler wraps both arms around Josh's thighs, pulling him toward them. "Is it okay if I don't finger you?"

"I'm completely fine if you just use your tongue, Tyler."

Tyler knows how wet Josh is, and they know how hard Josh is, so Tyler doesn't tease. Tyler wraps their lips around Josh's clit and bobs their head, sucks, licks—God, Tyler kisses Josh's clit over and over, sloppy, letting spit drizzle over the swell as they guide Josh closer and closer to his orgasm. Like with Tyler's own experience, Josh is trying to get off. It's all he wants. It's all Tyler wants to give them, and Tyler does that. They do it magnificently, and then they go beyond that.

Coming down from his high, coming down after coming on Tyler's face, Josh is taken directly into a peaceful headspace. Tyler is still between his legs, their nose in his pubes, as they kiss and kiss and kiss his clit. The initial aftershocks of his orgasm cause Josh to twitch from Tyler's mouth, but the initial aftershocks waver, and soon, Josh finds solace in a set of lips taking his clitoral hood and wetting it, sucking on it, humming on it.

"You good?" Tyler asks, giving a kiss to the inside of Josh's thigh. They bite.

Josh laughs. "I'm great." He sits up, Tyler standing on their knees. They don't need to be asked; they're leaning into Josh's mouth, parted lips, eyes closed. Josh kisses Tyler, and he kisses Tyler's tongue. "Thank you," Josh says, and lets Tyler kiss his tongue.

"For what?"

"For saying my cunt was perfect."

Tyler smiles.

Josh smiles and says, "What did you do before hell turned to shit, other than veterinary classes?"

"Bartender." Tyler touches Josh's thighs.

Josh blinks. "Dude, same."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah!"

Tyler can't stop smiling. "Small world."

Josh puts back on his clothes, and Tyler shuts off the light. "I think you need to sleep with Joy tonight," Josh tells Tyler. "I'll be fine here."

"Sleep with us," Tyler suggests. "I'll be in the middle. You and Joy on the ends. Well… we need to reapply deodorant first."

"I'm right there with you. We can shower in the morning."

Tyler turns off the TV and sets the remote on top of the stack of Joy's drawings. "And you can shave."

"Didn't like my beard when we were kissing?"

"I like it just fine." Tyler smiles. "I'm merely… curious."

Josh rolls his eyes, and Tyler slaps their hand over their mouth to keep their giggles muffled on the way into the bedroom.

*

In the morning, with gel on his shoulders and a towel wrapped around his waist, Josh stands in front of the sink and shaves his face. Done after a breakfast of Froot Loops with milk, fed to him by Joy, Josh retreated to the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower. His toothbrush is brand new, given to him the night he moved in with Tyler. "Had a spare," Tyler said. "Wish I could say the same about a bedroom."

In the morning, Josh holds a razor in hand and listens to Tyler quietly rap their knuckles into the bathroom door. "Josh? You almost done in there?"

"Yeah." Josh blinks. "Come in here."

Tyler does with no second thought. Clothed and already done with their morning routine before Joy woke, they stare at Josh, head tilted to the side, and grin. It's bashful. Tyler has to look away. "You're…"

Josh turns his head from side to side, up and down, all angles. "Do I look good?"

"Yeah, you do." Tyler makes eye contact now, and they walk toward Josh, carefully pressing their hands to the sides of Josh's face. They immediately laugh. "Wow."

"Can I kiss you?"

Tyler nods, a little too eager, and Josh kisses them. Tyler tastes like coffee.

"You know… you didn't get to suck on my nipples yesterday." Tyler takes a step backward, leaned against the sink, and lifts their shirt, exposing their breasts and each silver bar threaded through each nipple, the left a pair of angel wings. Tyler stands there, with heated, red cheeks, and says, "If you want…"

"Where's Joy?" Josh can't stop staring at Tyler's chest.

"With Brendon and Sarah. She's drawing a story based on the charms on my bracelet." Speaking of which, Tyler's bracelet is gone, and so is the brace once attached to their elbow. Now a bruise of yellow remains. Josh finds solace in the fact Tyler's body is healing at the same rate.

Josh nods. "Okay. I didn't get to eat you out either."

"Woke up with no blood. If, like, my period stopped you from—"

"Didn't want to gross you out. First time fucking. Didn't want to plunge face first into your cunt and scare you."

Tyler smiles again and shakes their head. "Can't scare me."

A hand on each of Tyler's breasts, each thumb circling each nipple, Josh captures Tyler's bottom lip in a kiss, in a biting kiss, in a kiss that brings up blood at how hard Sarah knocks on the bathroom door.

"Tyler? Josh? Are you both in there?"

Josh pulls himself away and dresses. Tyler fixes their shirt. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Everybody's leaving."

Josh watches Tyler shoot from the bathroom, a comet, and disappear down the hallway. Sarah remains standing there, hair pulled into a bun, not at all dressed to leave with everybody else. It's chaos outside, feet stamping, shoulders getting knocked into walls. Josh stares at Sarah, and Sarah has tears in her eyes. "Brendon won't leave his bed, and Joy…" Sarah doesn't finish, but she doesn't need to finish. Josh follows Tyler's route.

In the living room of Sarah and Brendon's apartment, on their knees, is Tyler. They're touching Joy's face, her shoulders, and whispering something Josh can't hear. Joy's clutching a broken crayon, a piece of paper, and Tyler's charm bracelet. A brown ballerina dances across the sheet of paper, her tutu as pink as a peach. Joy doesn't look at Tyler. She's looking toward the window above the television set, turned on to the news. More fire, more fire, Josh raises his eyes and sees the thick dark clouds from the part in the curtains.

"We need to go," Tyler says now, Josh walking behind them. "Do you remember what they said on the news? We have to leave if we see smoke."

"I don't want to go," Joy says. "Brendon isn't going. Sarah won't go without him. I don't want to go."

Josh peers out the window, looks down, and sees tenants jump into cars and drive for an unknown destination. Some stand around in the parking lot, luggage at their feet and coats on their torso. Those same people glance around, point at the sky, and talk. Up here, no one knows what they're saying, but it's clear when they tug on the handles of their suitcases and roll back inside. Josh smiles.

"We're leaving, Joy. We have to leave. I don't want to lose you or Josh. We're going."

"No."

Sarah, keeping the front door open, floats through the living room and resides in the bedroom. She doesn't want to lose Brendon, so she stays with him.

"Yes." Tyler stands. "You're going to walk with me, or I'm going to carry you."

"I'm not leaving."

Josh shoves aside the curtains more and yanks open the window.

"Yes, you're leaving, I'm—Josh, close the window." Tyler might cry. Tyler might scream. "What are you doing? We have to go. Help me." Tyler wipes their eyes. "Please."

"I'm not going."

"Not you, too. Not you, too." Tyler shakes their head. "Josh, please…  _please_."

"Tyler," Josh says, "come over here."

And Tyler does, and Tyler looks out the window, and Tyler covers their mouth and cries and cries and  _weeps_.

Joy says, "Everybody is fucking stupid." She returns to lying on the carpet, an array of crayons in front of her. She picks up the red one and sets Tyler's charm bracelet to the side. She draws the beginnings of red fangs.

Josh loops his arm around Tyler's shoulders and pulls them into his chest. Tyler can't stop crying.

From the bedroom, Brendon laughs.

And in the distance, Josh hears the roar of thunder.


	6. Dream Dog

Tyler sits on the carpet of Brendon and Sarah's apartment, stick straight, shoulders back, and an old ukulele in their arms. They flick their nails along the strings, the floor lamps and television set serving as cigarette lighters and flashlights on phones. With a smile on their face, their pimpled face, their healing face, they dig their thumbnail into the top string, pulling, yanking, and delicately strums down, down, down. "It's raining," they sing, voice sharp, out of place. "It's pouring. The old man is snoring."

Right in front of them, with Joy in his lap, Josh sits and watches Tyler. Josh has his arms around Joy's torso, and Joy has her arms around her thighs, socks on both of her feet. Both she and Josh sit and watch and listen. Josh rests his chin on the top of Joy's head, and Joy claps. She continues, "He went to bed and bumped his head!"

"And he couldn't get up in the morning!" Unusual for the song, but not at all unusual for Tyler, they run their fingers up and down the strings, fast, an obnoxious noise as they shred. It brings Joy to near muteness with how hard she's laughing.

On the couch, Brendon lies with his head in Sarah's lap and his injured arm dangling off the edge, loosely gripping the neck of a bottle of vodka. His eyes are shut, a blissful grin on his lips, and Sarah braids the long pieces of hair at the top of his head.

"Do you know the next part of the song?" Tyler leans in close, the tip of their nose to the tip of Joy's. "Most people don't."

"I don't," Josh says. "I thought that was it."

"Nope!" Tyler smiles, and they can't stop smiling. Their fingers snap, flutter, and their voice is sharper, more eccentric. They're purposefully trying to incite a riot from Joy.

"It's snowing. It's blowing. The old man is growing. He ate so much one day for lunch"—Tyler pokes Joy in the stomach—"every part of him was showing."

Joy, all high-pitched giggles, rocks from side to side, Josh keeping her steady on his lap. "You're lying. Sarah, my mommy's lying, right?"

"Yes, they are." Sarah twists Brendon's hair and clips the braids with bobby pins.

Groggy, Brendon mumbles, "Mommy?", and tightens his grip on the glass bottle.

Sarah pats his face. "Tyler was making up the entire thing."

"I knew it." Joy points at Tyler, and Tyler gasps.

"I did no such thing!" They lean forward again, brown eyes on fire. "Wanna hear the last part? It's not as good as the first part."

Joy crosses her arms over her chest, ready to critique.

Tyler strums, a beautiful sound. "It's warm out and sunny. The old man loves honey. He tried to seize a batch from the bees, and they didn't find it funny."

Joy sits. She says, "I know why nobody knows those parts of the song."

"And why's that, my delightful bunch of raspberries?"

"Because it  _fucking sucks_."

Tyler tosses their ukulele aside and pulls Joy from Josh's lap, lifting her into the air and swinging her onto their hip. "Oh, no, Joy! Looks like I'm gonna have'ta wash your mouth out with soap!"

Joy squirms, her laughs like screeches now as Tyler runs from the apartment to their own next door. Josh can hear Joy, and now Tyler, laughing. "We only have liquid!" Tyler shouts, and Joy screams.

Josh stands from the floor. He says his goodbyes to Sarah, Brendon too far gone to notice. Sarah tells Josh to be careful.

Josh only smiles.

In their apartment, Tyler chases Joy. Instead of regular liquid body wash, they have a bottle of dish soap in hand, squeezing with just enough pressure to shoot bubbles at Joy. Joy's laughing, skipping, and telling Tyler to stop, stop, stop, she has to catch her breath.

The thunder can't overpower that.

*

It finally rains near two in the morning. Josh and Tyler are awake, stretched out on the living room floor, pillows from the couch behind their heads and their clothes serving as makeshift bed sheets. Tyler is on their stomach, head propped up by an elbow and their hand on Josh's chest, just resting, looking at Josh's face, and not at all concerned someone might walk in and see them. Frankly, Josh doesn't care either. He has a knee to the ceiling, legs spread still from where Tyler recently ventured.

Tyler's drumming their wet fingers at the first rainfall. They jump up at the sound of rain against glass. "Josh," they urge, and give a wave of their fingers, still wet, connected by a string of come. "Look with me."

It doesn't matter if they were tearful earlier that day, nearly prepared to carry Joy in one arm and Josh in the other out the building. Tyler wouldn't have needed a car; they would have traveled on foot to escape from the smoke.

But it wasn't smoke. It was storm clouds, and Tyler opens the window to get a better view of them. Before, though, when Josh moves to stand next to them, they let Josh lick their fingers clean. "I taste good," Josh said, and Tyler smiled and pushed up the window.

Heads on arms, bodies relaxed and eyes turned up, never mind the rain sprinkling their skin, Josh nudges his hips into Tyler's. Tyler grins, absent, and tilts their face toward the dark, dark sky.

"I was on my phone," Josh says, "a few hours ago. The fires stopped. As soon as the fires disappeared, it began to thunder. There didn't seem to be any… pause." He looks at Tyler. "Do you think we should be worried about the rain?"

"Why should we? Rain is good."

Josh shrugs. "The fires were out of control. Maybe the rain will be, too."

"Do you know what sucks?" Tyler frowns. "You read that thing, yeah? Where they said areas affected by the fires wouldn't be affected by whatever comes next? Because the world would know what happened where." Less absently now, but still done absently, Tyler reaches over and takes Josh's forearm. They squeeze. "That's cruel, isn't it? The cities and towns ruined by fire need the rain the most."

"I don't think so. Everything would be gone. There wouldn't be anything to hold the rain at bay. Erosion, landslides." Josh shrugs. "Maybe this is good. The people who had to deal with the fire can recover while someone else suffers."

"I guess."

Josh shakes his head. "It's just a thought. I have absolutely no idea."

"Same here." Tyler rubs Josh's arm. "Wanna make out before we put on our clothes?"

"Sure."

Tyler shuts the window, and Josh takes Tyler's hips in his hands. Josh pulls, Tyler smiles, and they fall into Josh's arms, lips to lips, hips to hips, and they kiss, and they smile, and they whisper, "I'm so glad I met you."

Josh whispers, "Shut up," and kisses Tyler again. Tyler has no complaints.

*

Today, Josh and Tyler rub Androgel on each others' shoulders as they wait for the coffee to brew. The television is on a local news station, and Joy is coloring at the coffee table.

Josh blinks. "School," he says. "Doesn't Joy have to go to school?"

"No," Joy says, without raising her head.

Tyler pales. "I need to go to court, don't I? Become her legal guardian."

"Can you just… do that? Shouldn't, like… a family member—?"

"My old parents were estranged from their parents," Joy says, again, without raising her head. "They were only children. I don't know any great aunts or uncles. I'll be put with someone I'm comfortable with because they don't want to traumatize me. I'm going to stay with Tyler. I'm going to be Joy Joseph."

"Aw," Josh says. "I like that."

Tyler is tearing up. They struggle to get out coffee mugs, so Josh takes over. Tyler retreats into the bedroom and doesn't return for some time.

Joy's talking. "Do you two have to not have shirts on because of that medicine?"

Josh nods. "Yeah. It's also why you can't touch us. It might get on you." Josh fills two mugs with coffee, setting Tyler's on the counter. Josh goes into the living room and sits across from Joy by the coffee table. She's drawing that dog again. "How did you know about the guardian thing?"

"I can get on Google." Joy wraps her fingers around her crayon. "I also know that… the schools around here, they're not in session. Precaution."

"I get it."

Joy looks up at Josh. "Do you think they're going to ask Mommy what happened to my… my…?"

"Maybe." Josh stares at his coffee. "They might not go into detail. Tyler could say they found you. You could say you saw someone…"

Joy breaks her crayon. "This dog! I can say this dog is haunting my dreams because I saw it eat my old parents!"

"You will do no such thing," Tyler says, a baggy tank top on, a t-shirt in their fist, which they toss at Josh. "You don't fucking lie about that kind of shit."

Josh tugs the shirt over his head. Joy narrows her eyes. "Why can't I? Maybe it happened! You fucking left them for dead!"

"They deserved it." Tyler sips at their coffee.

"That's why this dog ate 'em! This dog eats bad people!" Joy shows Tyler the drawing. The big black-and-brown dog is back, now with ears to her skull and fangs the size and shape of a shark's.

"Okay! Believe that! But don't fucking tell people that." Tyler drops to the coffee table, setting down their mug and lowering Joy's drawing. "If we go to court—"

" _When_  we go to court—"

"When we go to court, we need to get our story straight. What are you going to tell them?"

"My parents took me to the park, and then they left me, and when I found them, they were dead, and then I found you, and you weren't dead."

Josh snorts.

Tyler nods. "We'll work on it."

"Oh!" Joy pushes papers this way and that until she finds Tyler's charm bracelet. She holds it out for them. "I'm done with it."

Tyler presents their wrist. Joy loops it on. "What did you draw? Can you show me?"

"Just this ballerina, and then this cat."

Josh says, "That's a really good cat, Joy."

Joy beams.

*

Brendon comes over that evening with Tyler's ukulele. "You, like… fucking left it over there?"

Tyler appears shy. They take the instrument. "Sorry. I got—"

"No, shut up." Brendon rubs his eyes. "Did you guys want to… come over and… hang out? We could… watch a movie."

"Would it be appropriate for Joy?"

"Yeah! It's, like…  _Frozen_."

"Joy doesn't like  _Frozen_. Do you have _Princess and the Frog_?"

Josh watches Brendon stand there, slowly blinking as he calculates his movie catalogue from memory alone. Joy's on Josh's lap, curled into a ball, her prosthetic on the floor to aid in her curling. Cheek to the arm of the couch, Joy rests, breathing deeply, eyes closed and a spot of drool on the corner of her mouth.

Brendon notices this after confirming with a not-so confident nod. "She's fucking asleep."

Tyler's all smiles. "How's the arm?"

"How's the dick?"

Tyler frowns. "We're quiet," they hiss, hugging their ukulele.

"You are! But thanks for confirming my suspicions." Brendon takes Tyler's smiles and makes them shit-eating. "Do you wanna go outside tomorrow? Try to pretend everything is normal? We could totally hit up a grocery store."

"I'd be down for that," Josh says.

Tyler nods their agreement. "Would Sarah watch Joy? I don't know if Joy would want to do all that walking."

"I'll talk to Sarah." Brendon pushes up his shirt sleeve and shows Tyler his bicep. "My arm's okay, though. It was clean. Still a little weak. No heavy lifting, obviously."

"Obviously."

"I'll come by tomorrow, in the afternoon. Not too early. Don't have to go to work if the world's ending."

"Have you heard anything?" Tyler asks.

"The police were supposed to come by to see if we were alive, I guess," Brendon says. "Seeing as we didn't get hit by fire, I understand why they didn't show their faces. Doesn't mean I like it. Now? They gotta come 'round. What if it fucking floods?"

"Don't think about that," Tyler whispers, a motto, and the lightning blinds eyes, and the thunder shakes windowpanes.

*

They fall asleep to the rain. Josh holds Tyler to his chest, and Tyler holds the hem of Joy's shirt. She has the blankets gathered in her arms. In that moment, Josh realizes she needs a stuffed animal.

*

Josh helps Joy in the morning. Tyler tries to, but she shakes her head and says, "You always do it. I want Josh."

"Even with your shower?"

"He just needs to sit outside the door and make sure he picks me up if he hears me fall. Just… Josh is here. You don't need to—"

"Okay, yeah." Tyler smiles. "Got it."

Josh sits, and he doesn't have to go into the bathroom until Joy calls for him. Around this time, Josh has gel on his shoulders and coffee on his breath. Joy's dressed, a towel draped over her shoulders to protect her t-shirt from her wet hair. "Can you do braids?" she asks him. "Something different from my mom's?"

Josh guides Joy to the toilet, and she swings her legs, the foot of her prosthetic skidding the floor. "Getting tired of French braids?"

Joy shrugs.

"Has your mom done two French braids in your hair before?" Josh finds a comb on a shelf by the sink. He passes it through Joy's hair, darker even now since it's damp.

"No. Just the one."

"I'll do two, then. They're called boxer braids."

Joy stays still. She doesn't swing her legs. "You should let me cut your hair."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so." Josh chews on the inside of his cheek, setting the comb on the back of the toilet. "Okay, maybe I'll let you cut my hair."

"A mohawk?"

"Why a mohawk?"

"Because Mommy won't let me cut their hair into a mohawk. And because badasses have mohawks, and you're a badass."

Josh finishes one braid. He nonchalantly wipes his eyes before moving onto the next one. "Okay. A mohawk. Yes. You can."

*

Joy guides Josh to the floor and takes the towel from around her shoulders. She carefully puts it around Josh's shoulders, so as to not get hair into the gel. She says, "I won't touch the towel after this," and Josh tells her, "Good."

At the first sound of the electric razor, Tyler's by the door. They knock and say, "What's going on?"

Joy and Josh say, "Nothing!"

Tyler lingers, but eventually they leave.

They're on the couch, munching on a bowl of Reese's Puffs, when they see Josh's hair. The look they give Josh is identical to the look they gave Josh's cunt days ago. "Dude…" Tyler says, mouth full, and Josh covers his face. "Dude," Tyler says again, and Josh shakes his head.

"Dude, look at me." Bowl on the coffee table, Tyler takes Josh's wrists and pulls them down, down, and they hold Josh's wrists. " _Dude_ …"

"Your face—"

"You look good." Tyler smiles, eyes bright, and Josh kisses the smile off Tyler's face.

"Shut up."

"Joy did a good job."

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

Josh presses his palm to Tyler's face. "Like that."

Tyler kisses Josh's hand and eats the rest of their cereal.

Joy pretends to not have seen this exchange. She rummages in cupboards and makes her own breakfast of Froot Loops. She sits next to Tyler and kicks them until they switch the TV to some cartoons.

"Josh, Brendon, and I were thinking about going out later. Would you be okay with that?"

"Without me."

Josh wanders down the hallway. He needs a shirt.

"We might be walking for a while," Tyler says. "I know walking can be… tedious for you. I think Sarah would be up to watching you." Again, Tyler asks, "Would you be okay with that?"

Joy is quiet. She says, just high enough for Josh to hear from the bedroom, "I like Sarah. She… she likes girls…"

And then, Tyler is quiet, and Josh feels as if he's too loud as he searches through his clothes for his binder.

"You feel safe with her," Tyler says.

"Yes."

Josh locates his binder, tucked near the bottom of his backpack, next to the stacks of twenties and hundreds Josh swiped.

"I love you, girlie."

Josh pulls on his shirt. He feels better.

"I love you, too."

*

It rains all day. By the time Brendon arrives, it's slowed to a sprinkle, and the meteorologists seem to believe it won't pick back up until late tomorrow. They pull on layers again, windbreakers on top, boots on their feet—it's strange to see something other than the brand new floral vans on Tyler's feet. "Did you take those shoes?" Josh asks. "The shoes with the flowers."

Tyler says, "Uh."

Josh laughs. "Okay."

Tyler laces up their boots. They nod at Josh's pair. "Only lesbians wear those."

"My mom used to think I was one, a lesbian."

"What would you tell her now, if you could?"

Josh thinks for a moment. "A lesbian can't grow a beard like I can." He expects Tyler to laugh, but Tyler doesn't laugh—not completely. There's a small grin spread across their face, but it's sad, and Josh doesn't know if he needs to apologize. He doesn't, and Tyler zips up their windbreaker. They're wearing Josh's "I Want to Believe" sweatshirt underneath it. The rip in the sleeve is insignificant. Josh doesn't see it, doesn't think about it until Tyler's making sure the bracelet on their wrist is there after packing their backpacks.

"I didn't know what to bring," Tyler said, "so I just grabbed what I usually grab when I go out on a run. Oh, I kept the money inside your bag. I hid it beneath some more towels."

Brendon suggests driving first. "I don't know what we're gonna find," he says, "but it'll be an adventure."

"If you guys are gonna drive, then I can come." Joy looks up from her coloring. She's drawing the dog again. Sarah's on the floor beside her, coloring a page from a Disney princess coloring book.

"We won't just be driving," Brendon says. He gets on his knees and touches Joy's hand, her arm, poking her in the side to mess up her drawing, the annoying relative. "We're gonna walk, and we're gonna run, and we're gonna—"

"Okay! I won't come!"

"Sarah has our phone numbers. We'll text her if something happens."

"Like what?"

"I dunno," Brendon says. "Do you trust me with your… mom?"

"Yes."

Brendon's whispering on the way outside. "Dude, why didn't you tell me you were transitioning?"

Tyler frowns. "Transitioning into…?"

"A woman."

"I didn't tell you because I'm not transitioning into a woman."

The third floor is slowly becoming occupied again. Talking occurs behind the doors. Josh wonders if Mark and his family returned, or Dallon and his family. And if not, where did they go? Did they perish? Josh hears Tyler's voice— _don't think about that_.

"If anything, I guess… I'm taking testosterone." Tyler holds open the lobby doors for them, the lobby itself void of life. All is still, but all is alive within their homes.

Brendon doesn't question Tyler's preference of parental term. "Damn, I just thought you were grabbing all that shit because you were, like… I don't know what I thought. What else don't I know?"

"I'm on testosterone, too," Josh says. "I've been on it for a few years."

"Goddamn." Brendon sighs. "You two pass extremely well. I'm… proud of you? Is that a thing that's appropriate to say right now?" Brendon goes to his car, the one with the missing mirror and door handle. "I'm  _happy_. That's the word."

Tyler smiles. "Can I drive?"

Brendon tosses them the keys and climbs into the back, silently giving Josh the passenger seat as he flips a pair of sunglasses onto his face. Josh drops his bag by his feet, money and towels and a change of clothes and water and—

"Did we need any, like, knives? I… I don't know what's out there."

Tyler's thinking. Slowly, they shake their head and tug on their seatbelt. "We won't go too far. Did you bring anything, Brendon?"

"Hell no. Didn't even think about it until Josh said something."

"I have spray paint. Maybe I can get 'em in the eyes if something happens." Tyler starts the engine, grinning at the purr. "Don't wanna go too far anyway. Gas and all that."

"I filled it up yesterday or something. Some guy on the first floor stockpiled some gas right when shit went down, and he was kind enough to let some of it go." Brendon leans forward, between the two front seats, and pushes knobs on the radio. "You think they still do talk shows?"

*

The sky is gray, and the rain that falls barely leaves impressions in the puddles on the sidewalk. Josh steps into these puddles, washing the mud from his boots, and listens to Brendon wonder aloud if they should go inside the store. "I think we should," he says, "because there's light inside."

"Doesn't mean anything," Josh says.

"Have I mentioned how much your hair kicks ass?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, it kicks ass."

Tyler is brave. Tyler steps forward, and the store's double doors slide open. Josh is next to them, head tilted to the side to better look inside. The building seems empty on first look, but then Josh hears speaking and ruffling—customers making themselves known. Due to the weather outside, it makes sense for the only other people here to be young adults. Stuck inside does no well for twentysomethings with humming in their veins and adventure in their joints. Kids and their grandparents keep inside. They need to stay out of the cold, the rain, the—

"Dude," a man says, next to a shelf, clutching a loaf of bread in one hand and his phone in the other. He's talking to his friend beside him, hugging a gallon jug of water. "Severe thunderstorms tonight. Tornado watch."

"Fuck," his friend says. "What if it turns into a tornado  _warning_?"

"I would probably shit my pants."

These two men are the sole occupants of the bread aisle. The bread aisle is relatively vacant of food, save for the loaf currently twisting in the guy's hand. For a brief moment, Josh considers snatching it and running until his ribs bruise again. The thought's unpleasant, and Josh shakes it from his head. This movement brings attention. The man with the water catches Josh's eye, and the man with the bread catches Tyler's. Brendon is free of this contact. He mumbles something about cigarettes and disappears behind a shelf.

No one moves.

The guy with the bread slowly pulls the bread behind his back. "Hello…"

"We're not going to rob you," Tyler says, an angel. "And I know that's a thing robbers say, but we're not gonna do that. We're just seeing the sights."

"In that case, you two should check out the town about an hour from here. Got totally destroyed by the fires."

Josh frowns. "Are you serious? That's so close. We could have—"

Tyler touches Josh's arm, a reminder.  _Don't think about that._

"Thanks for the heads up. We'll be sure to go up there either today or soon."

"We could totally drive you up there now. We have this theory that the storms will be more severe there, and might even amount to tornados. I'm Mark." Mark points at the man to his left, lightly tapping the water jug with his thumb. "This is Brad."

"Tyler," Tyler says, "and he's Josh. Our friend who vanished on us is Brendon. I dunno if he'd be up to coming with us. He just said something about a grocery store."

"What am I doing?" Brendon has a twelve-pack of soda in his arms and a bag of potato chips balanced on top. "Where are we going? Who are they?"

"Mark and Brad," Tyler says. "They volunteered to take us to see some ruins from the fires."

"Because tornados," Brad says.

Brendon snorts. "You guys storm chasers?"

"Damn straight."

"Okay, well, it was nice knowing you." Brendon looks down at the food in his arms. "D'ya think we gotta pay for this shit?"

"There was someone at the front," Mark says.

"Brendon, I want to go with them."

"Tyler!"

Josh catches the chips before they fall to the floor. He doesn't feel comfortable rising to his feet to stand between Brendon and Tyler. He tries sliding out of the way, but Brendon goes that way, too. Brendon shoulders Josh away, roughly shoving his sunglasses to the top of his head as he holds the case of pop one-armed, like an infant. "We're not going with them," he tells Tyler, standing in front of them. His eyes are pink. The lights hurt his eyes, but he does this. He stares at Tyler, more patronizing than acceptable at the moment. "Did you hear me?"

"Why can't—?"

"Shut  _the fuck_  up." Brendon's finger threatens to slide right up Tyler's nose. "What's your Goddamn deal with running away and going off with strangers? Last time we trusted strangers, I got fucking shot. Did you forget the state Josh was in when we picked him up? Thank fuck he wasn't terrible. Thank fuck Joy actually likes him and— _oh_. Here's the point I was trying to get to: what's your Goddamn deal when it comes to abandoning Joy for  _weeks_?"

Josh glances between Tyler and Brendon. He sees Mark and Brad are doing the same.

"Do you know what she fucking does when she wakes up to find you haven't returned? She runs to Sarah, or me, or anybody who will fucking listen to her, and cries. She's scared. She's lonely. She genuinely thinks you might die every time you leave her line of sight. And you can pull that 'you'll know when I'm dead' bullshit all you want, but it still doesn't change the fact you could fucking leave her a fucking orphan. Do you want that? I know you don't, but you act like you do. Get a fucking grip, and be a fucking parent. You realize you're a parent, right? You're someone's fucking mom, and you gotta act like it."

"Okay, Brendon," Tyler says, far too quickly for them to soak in what he said.

"You understand what I'm saying, man? Just had to be blunt with you." Brendon rubs Tyler's shoulder, patting it, and snatches the chips from Josh. His sunglasses slide down his nose. "You said there was someone up front?" And he disappears again, leaving Tyler and Josh with Mark and Brad again.

Brad says, "Wow."

Mark says, "Uh."

Tyler says, "I'll give you my number, and you can text me how to find this neighborhood."

Josh says, "Tyler, maybe we shouldn't—"

But Mark and Tyler are standing side by side, phones out and typing in contact details. Josh shakes his head. He leaves Tyler, going down the aisle, turning into another aisle—one for snack cakes if snack cakes were still here.

In its entirety, the grocery store isn't empty, but it isn't well stocked. Josh sees a few customers here and there, carrying a case of water, some shouldering do-it-yourself tote bags full with non-perishable food. Josh smiles at them, and they smile back. They ask about the weather, and Josh follows with the same sentiment. It's like he's alone again, on the road again, but Tyler's with him. Tyler's looping their arm through Josh's, and they tug Josh into an aisle with canned food, most of it gone. "Hey," Tyler says, "okay, hear me out."

Josh studies a dented can of diced potatoes.

"We'll go to the apartment with Brendon. Go home. Pack up. All that. And then… we go check out that neighborhood."

"Joy," Josh says.

Tyler blinks. "Joy?"

"Your daughter. Not, like… the emotion."

"Oh." Tyler licks their lips. "She'll be with Sarah tonight. She'll be asleep when we come back. She won't—"

"I want to, Tyler, but this isn't fair to—"

"Not you, too," Tyler says, and it's the smoke scare all over again. "Please, God, not you, too."

"We ask Joy if it's okay we leave. We have to ask her." Josh kicks the can under the shelf, finding it empty once the toe of his boot hits the steel. "Clear conscience."

"Fair." Tyler nods. "That's fair."

"Compromise." Josh kisses Tyler's cheek.

Along with the chips and pop, Brendon buys cigarettes. "Can't believe they still had some." The cigarettes keep him busy on the car ride home. He doesn't mention Joy, and nobody talks about the rumble of thunder behind them.

*

Joy is indeed asleep when they get home. On Sarah and Brendon's couch, her prosthetic on the carpet and dozens of drawings of butterflies around the room, Joy seems to have had fun while Brendon, Tyler, and Josh shopped. Sarah says as much as they creep into the front door, quiet as mice.

"She stuffed her face with some pizza rolls and knocked herself out." Sarah smiles, distant. "She told me she was scared to fall asleep."

"Why?" Tyler asks, Brendon smug on his way into the bedroom.

"Something about a dog."

"I won't wake her." Tyler glances at Joy. They frown. "I shouldn't wake her." They're musing to themself, Sarah going into the bedroom with Brendon, Josh only half listening as he looks out a window. "I can't wake her."

"Tyler," Josh says, "ask her."

"Ask me what?" Joy's awake, sneaky little thing. She fauxs a yawn, shaking her head and her boxer braids and punching her fists into the air.

Tyler drops to their knees and takes Joy's hands. "You know I love you, right?"

Even Joy can tell something is going to happen. Josh walks toward them, pressing his hand to the top of Tyler's head, and curls his fingers into Tyler's hair. A nonverbal plea, Tyler ignores it in favor of repeating their question. "Joy, I love you."

"Just go," Joy says.

Her tone brings tears. Tyler touches her arms, her face, and they kiss her face, her forehead. "Joy—"

"You'll come back. You always come back." Joy is the stronger one. She pushes Tyler from her, straightening out her t-shirt and shorts, dusting herself of Tyler. "You  _will_  come back."

"I always do, sweet thing. You know me."

Joy holds up a hand. Tyler holds up theirs, and they press palms together. Josh returns his hand to Tyler's hair, but he is gentle this time.

Tyler smiles. "You know me."

"Be careful out there," Joy whispers. "Can I come next time?"

"We'll see." Tyler's still crying, tears rolling down their cheeks. "Do you want me to say a bedtime prayer before we go?"

"I can," Josh says, joining Tyler on the floor. Joy takes the incentive and places her hand in Josh's. Josh grasps it and laces his fingers with Tyler's when offered.

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Josh starts, Joy mumbling along.

Tyler can't stop looking at him.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." Josh has to shut his eyes. His chest feels tight. His throat constricts. Joy doesn't mumble anymore. "His love to guard me through the night," he continues, lips refusing to touch at a rest, always trembling, shaking, "and wake me in the morning's light."

"Amen," Tyler says.

Josh's knuckles are white. "Amen."

Joy hugs him, tight, around the neck. She stands on one leg, her good leg, and leans into Josh for support. "Amen."

*

They leave Joy with kisses and phone numbers scribbled onto a drawing of a black dog with tan markings and red teeth.

Tyler drives again after they and Josh drop into the apartment to grab more clothes, food, Androgel. Tyler even wraps up their toothbrushes in paper towels, just in case. "I don't know how long we'll be gone," they say, "but… you know."

Still in their boots and their windbreaker, Tyler looks small on their way to the car. Josh doesn't ask what car they're going to drive; Tyler has keys on a ring in their hand. Tyler looks so small. They're shivering. In the parking lot, Josh pulls them into a hug. He squeezes, and Tyler says, "Bro, I'm okay."

It isn't the little Slugbug Brendon swears he didn't name after Sarah. It's a pick-up truck, scratched up on the bumper, the cap cloth and retractable. "I fucked my last boyfriend back there," Tyler says, climbing into the front seat. "Believe it or not, I got a concussion, and I still get migraines from time to time."

Josh drops his bag onto the space by his seat, where his feet should go, and swings his feet onto the dash. "I've gotten a concussion before, but… no migraines."

Tyler says, "Seatbelt," and Josh pulls it on.

Tyler finds a beanie beneath their seat. It's red, a little frayed, but after giving it a few bats, Tyler stuffs it on their head and switches on the engine. The truck starts easily, eager to please, and Tyler rubs their hands along the steering wheel, getting used to the feeling again. Josh grins because Tyler grins. Josh is excited because Tyler is excited.

Josh says, "Seatbelt," and Tyler pulls it on.

"Here we go," Tyler says, bouncing in their seat. "Here we go."

"Here we go."

Tyler looks small, but Tyler looks radiant.

*

They're passing the grocery store when Brendon texts them.

Josh reads it aloud. "'I can't fucking believe you guys.'"

Tyler rolls their eyes.

"Another one," Josh says, phone vibrating in his hand. "'She says she isn't upset, but I know better than that.'"

"It's late," Tyler says.

"'It's late,'" Josh types, reading as he does so. "'Go to bed. If she isn't upset, then she isn't upset.'"

"It's late," Tyler repeats, voice lower.

Josh looks at them, thumb tapping onto the weather app. He inspects, and Tyler pulls into the parking lot of a bank. "This says it isn't supposed to rain until tomorrow night."

Everybody can hear the thunder.

"There are blankets in the back." Tyler tugs the beanie further on their head. "And maybe a pillow."

"I don't wanna sleep."

"Can you drive?"

"No. I don't wanna drive anyway."

Tyler knows. They step from the truck, slinging their bag on their shoulder as they go toward the back, as they crawl into the bed. Tyler knows. They're already pulling off their clothes, settling down as Josh climbs into the back, as Josh shuts the door and becomes safe.

"Here," Tyler says, their legs spread.

Josh tosses his bag to the side, sliding on elbows and knees until he's on his stomach between Tyler's legs, kissing and kissing Tyler's wet cunt over and over and over.

"There, there, there." Tyler's completely naked, and Josh still has layers upon layers. "God, keep kissing my clit like that. Gonna make me come from that alone."

The thunder is loud. Tyler is louder. "S- _shit_."

"Fuck me," Josh says. "I need you to fuck me."

Tyler yanks off clothes. Josh kicks away boots, leaves on his socks, and Tyler takes Josh's labia in their mouth, sucking, pulling, spreading Josh open to slide in three fingers.

"Fuck—fuck, fuck me."

Tyler kisses Josh's clit, keeping their mouth there while their wrist moves, while their fingers curl, while they fuck and fuck and fuck Josh until Josh screams, until Josh cries, until Josh comes.

They sleep, a blanket smelling of freshly mown grass thrown over them. Tyler snores, and Josh snores, and they're sated.

*

Their breakfast consists of small boxes of cereal, juice pouches, Androgel, and texts from Brendon.

Sitting across from each other in the bed of the truck, Josh munches on Rice Krispies, and Tyler reads the texts from their phone. "'Joy still says she isn't upset, but I don't believe her. Come back soon. It's sprinkling here. Oh, wanted to ask, I hope you two remembered to bring weapons.'" Tyler laughs. "Whoops."

"Completely forgot," Josh agrees. "We'll be okay as long as, like, puddle monsters or abominable snowmen stay away."

Tyler laughs so hard they sound like a seal.

*

"I think we're close." Tyler points, arm going up and down at the trees on either side of their truck. "Do you see the fire damage?"

"Look, Tyler, if it'll be easier for you to adopt Joy if there are two parents in the household, then I'll gladly step up and help out and do what I can."

Tyler drops their hand. "That's not relevant to what I was talking about at all."

"I know, but I've been sitting here and thinking about it." Josh cranes his neck, tapping the button to roll down the window. "I see the fire damage. It's a little damp, but—"

"Were you suggesting what I think you were suggesting?"

"Eight-letter word, starting with  _M_? Maybe." Josh pulls up the map on Tyler's phone and looks through the windshield. "Yeah, this says it's just a few more miles."

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what?"

"Four-letter word, starting with  _L_."

Josh rubs his face. "You're fucking ridiculous."

"You know what I think?" Tyler pauses for dramatic effect. " _You're_  fucking ridiculous."

"Dude, stop the car."

"Why should I?"

"Because we're here, dumbass."

Laughter slips from Tyler's lips, but it's controlled this time. No animal noises this time, Tyler is breathy and shaking their head, and Josh has no choice but to lean over and kiss their cheek. "I would tell you to park somewhere not that conspicuous, but… I can tell that's gonna be a little difficult."

Decrepit and ghostly, the neighborhood in front of them is not a neighborhood at all. Buildings remain, yet bricks are missing, roofs are caved in, and any vehicle left behind is scorched. The grass is gone. It crunches beneath Josh's boots, the soil beneath it dry. This grass should be green and springy. Instead it's gray and malnourished. A cat keeps watch by a house that looks unoccupied, curled in on itself with sticks for elbows and haunches. It gnaws a tuft of grass. Josh cries as he watches it chew the grass like cud.

"Tyler—"

"Yeah."

Tyler approaches the feline, not minding getting down on all fours to crawl the rest of the way. If they were to walk, the cat wouldn't have moved. The cat would have continued to crouch here, dead eyes, a new breed of cow. "Here," Tyler says to it, reaching around its thin frame to grab an overturned bowl. Cracked on a side, blue, hard plastic, Tyler fills one half with water from a bottle and the other with tuna from a can. "You deserve better than grass," they say, rubbing between their sharp shoulders. "And I can go a meal without. I don't even like tuna that much anyway."

Josh walks over to them, Tyler still on their knees, their backpack close to their chest. The cat eats, looking pleased with itself. "Do you think it used to live here? It thinks its owner will return?"

"That's so sad."

A man opens the front door, arms covered in tattoos and a bald spot on his head. Inside his house is dark, and Josh can see the glowing eyes of hungry children. They're tuned out by the loading of a shotgun. They're tuned out by the gun's barrel pressing right to Tyler's head.

"The fuck you doing here?" the man growls, and Tyler loses their voice. They look ahead, at the cat still eating.

"We're just—"

"Not talking to you," the man says, glaring at Josh. "I'm talking to 'im."

Tyler mouths something. They clear their throat. "We were j-just—we saw this cat and felt bad—"

"You think I can't feed my family? You think I don't care about my family?"

"No, no, no—"

"My house nor this town ain't for your adventures. We're people here. We're _survivors_ here, and we'll damn well wait for rescue like they said on the TV."

Tyler snorts. "Really? You're gonna wait for our president to send in help?"

"That's what he said."

"The president says a lot of things, but you and I both know he's an idiot and won't do shit for us."

"I voted for him!"

"Then you deserve every fucking awful thing that comes to you."

Josh is fast. He grabs Tyler's arm and tugs, and the bullet goes into the dry lawn. The dirt cracks, parched, and Tyler and Josh waste no time in running, running, running, ducking behind an old apartment complex, and running some more.

They stop at a bus stop, collapsing onto the bench there. They're sitting for only a few seconds before the legs give way. They don't jump up. They lie in splintered wood, alternating between catching their breath and laughing.

"I knew he voted for him because there was a confederate flag on his bicep," Tyler says.

"It's a relief to know you had some sense last November."

"Yeah, well… I don't think I can say the same for the rest of my family." Tyler pushes themself into sitting. They fix their beanie and backpack straps. "I don't know if it's the president's fault. It just seems like everybody blames the president when something bad happens."

"That guy was right, though. This place isn't a sideshow. We should respect what happened here."

"We are! That's like saying no one should visit Ground Zero."

"I haven't visited it."

"Me neither." Tyler chews on their lip. "You're wearing your binder, aren't you?"

"Uh."

"Dammit, Josh."

"I saw you put something on under your shirt! You're completely flat!"

"Sports bra."

"Oh."

"Thank you for saving my life."

Josh sits up. He takes Tyler's hand. "Don't mention it. I mean that. We don't need this power play, this debt thing."

"I won't—just… thank you."

A kiss to Tyler's cheek, Josh says, "I'm not scared of losing you. I'm scared my ex might find me and fuck my brains out"—Tyler wrinkles their nose—"but I'm not scared of losing you."

"Because I always come back."

"Yeah."

Tyler raises their head. A bird perches at the top of a streetlamp, a dove. "Tell me about your ex."

"He's the Devil, doesn't even deserve a name like 'Adam'."

Tyler presses their cheek to Josh's shoulder.

"I wasn't myself when I met him. He supported me through everything. I ignored his microaggressions. I thought I was happy, but I was always so paranoid he was going to hurt me. He  _told_  me he wouldn't… What a fucking liar. I was with him when the world ended or whatever—like, literally  _with him_. His dick was inside me. And then… he dropped this façade and started talking about killing me and himself, and so I robbed him and left and haven't heard from him since. Probably because I blocked his number, but… y'know."

Tyler stares at Josh.

Josh rubs his thighs, the dust on his jeans. "He used to call me his 'little Eve'. I didn't want to be Eve. I was never Eve. If anything… I wanted to be Lilith."

"Does that make me Samael?" asks Tyler.

Surrounded by healthy evergreens, the clouds in the distance are dark and threatening. Lightning strikes the top of a tree, and it catches fire. If someone were to blink, they would miss it. The fire disappears, and Josh smiles. "Maybe it does." He rubs his thighs again. "I wouldn't recommended tagging this place. 'Everything will be okay' sounds like pouring salt in fresh wounds."

"Yeah, you're right. It smells like death here," Tyler says, "but I don't see any dead bodies."

"It's the Earth. The Earth is dying." Josh nudges Tyler and nods at the forest of trees ahead. "We should go that way."

"Okay."

As they stand and clean themselves of debris, neither Josh nor Tyler spot the charred remains of people piled into the post office behind them.

*

"It's just a straight-forward drive to the forest. Do you wanna try driving there?"

Josh does.

Tyler sips on another juice pouch and encourages him all the way. "I'm so proud of you. Park over—yeah, you got it."

Still with their juice pouch, they hold Josh's hand and squeeze both that and their juice whenever they trip over tree roots. "I fucking hate nature."

"No, you don't."

"Okay, I don't, but I fucking hate nature."

The trees are untouched, tall, their branches securing Tyler and Josh from the sky ahead. They walk, and they walk, and they barely make a dent in the forest. Josh thinks this forest is enchanted, and then thinks it's outrageous for the forest to be magical. He doesn't voice his thoughts on this to Tyler, but Tyler speaks them anyway.

"I'm pretty sure we just entered a portal."

"Why's that?" Josh doesn't shoot them down.

"I'm getting a weird vibe from this place." Tyler slurps the rest of their juice and looks toward what little sky they can see. "It's so dark. I don't remember it being close to nighttime."

"Sometime in the evening." Josh pulls out his phone, absently squeezing Tyler's hand as he does so. "Yeah, 'bout four."

"But why is it so dark?"

"Because the trees are an umbrella."

"I have a flashlight in my bag. Get it for me?"

Tyler stops walking in order for Josh to pull out the flashlight. Heavy, the bulb not too bright and not too dim, Josh shines the beam up into the thick canopy overhead and sees squirrels jumping. "I think this is my flashlight."

"It is."

Josh aims the light ahead, illuminating the path before them. They continue their walk.

"Maybe it's the rain," Josh says. "Maybe this area is going to get hit with those tornados Mark and Brad were eager to see."

"So, areas are squared off somehow? This one gets fire, and this one gets sprinkles, and this one gets thunderstorms, and this one gets tornados? I fucking hate nature." Tyler lets go of Josh's hand and doesn't bother stepping over stray twigs and branches any longer. They remember they're wearing boots instead of their floral vans, and so they stomp and are not scared of tripping and falling onto their face. They walk, and Josh follows, looking around, the flashlight steady in front of him. Tyler needs it to see. It's getting darker.

Tyler sees it before Josh. "Dude."

"What?"

And then, Josh sees the flash of lightning, and they both hear the thunder.

"Check your phone," Josh says. "Look up the weather."

"Okay, lemme—" Another crack of thunder drowns Tyler's voice, but the look on Tyler's face is all Josh needs to spin on his heel and go the other way.

"No, wrong way!" Tyler shouts.

"The car's this way!"

"We're almost out! We'll have better luck—"

Again, thunder, and this time, it's paired with their phones going off—an alarm, an alert—a tornado warning in their area.

Josh stares at Tyler.

Tyler stares at Josh.

The wind is strong. Tyler clutches their juice pouch in one hand as the other keeps their beanie pulled down over an ear. "We need—"

Again, thunder, and again, thunder—a siren goes off in the distance—a tornado warning.

Tyler runs.

And Josh follows.

The flashlight can do so much when they run, when they struggle to keep air in their lungs. They need out of the trees. The wind roars, rivaling the thunder, and it shakes the trees with trunks as thick as can be.

Tyler emerges from the forest first, and they don't stop running. They're in a field now, grass green and pure like it should be. Houses are nowhere to be seen, and Tyler tosses a sympathetic look over their shoulder. Josh doesn't hold grudges. He continues to run, to follow Tyler. They're supposed to seek shelter, supposed to wait out the storm, but they're crossing the flattest field Josh has ever seen, home to orange flowers, pink flowers, white flowers. They wave at Josh as he rushes past, trying not to step on them, but unable to feel bad if he does.

"I think there's a house up there!" Tyler says, but Josh doesn't see where. Rain has started to fall, and it gets in his eyes, in his ears, and the flashlight is heavy in his hands. The flashlight is heavy, and the pain in his side makes him fall into the meadow of flowers. It's crippling, paralyzing, and Josh can't breathe. He tries screaming. He can't. He can't, he can't—and that's when he hears growling.

The pain in his side isn't brought on by some internal suffering. No, an animal has driven itself into Josh's flank. It's on top of him, growling and spitting and biting his leg, dragging, shaking its head. Josh is a chew toy. He can't breathe. "Tyler!" he screams. " _Tyler!_ "

The flashlight flickers, blinking with each blink of Josh's eyes. Cut in half, trapped in the leaves of the flowers, the flashlight provides no light for Tyler to see what's happened. They shout, and Josh shouts back, but the growling is loud, the thunder is louder, and the wind is louder still. It's dark, damp, and dangerous.

Josh adjusts to the darkness, and he sees the animal is a black dog with tan markings and red teeth, picture perfect, terrifying. It's snarling, its teeth pulling at the leg of Josh's jeans. Josh kicks his foot, and the teeth sink deeper.

When lightning flashes, Josh spots Tyler on the other side of the field, too far away, but they run, they run, and they're talking, pleading, but Josh can't hear, he can't hear, and the dog is huffing and dragging him off somewhere. Josh kicks and squirms and digs his fingers into the dirt. He finds worms and pill bugs. He crawls, he slides, and he grabs the flashlight, heavy, the beam steady. The flashlight is heavy. It's heavy. Josh spins, swinging his arm, and connects the flashlight with someone's hand. "Tyler," he sighs, but it isn't Tyler. He doesn't know who he's looking at, but it isn't Tyler. Josh pulls the flashlight away and raises it again, swinging, but the man catches it again, easy, and Josh tries again, and he's unsuccessful. He's weak. The dog is by his feet, intimidating.

The man crouches next to Josh, eyes big, wet from the flashlight shining into them. He's huge—no, he's small—he's massive. Fur lines his shoulders and his face, and he's powerful—no, he's insignificant—he's all-knowing. He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to speak. Tyler is on him, launching themself over Josh's body and knocking the man onto his back. "Get away from—"

Barking, growling, the dog gets involved again, jumping on Tyler, gnawing their boot, and Tyler yelps, and the man shoves Tyler off him, and Josh raises the flashlight, the Olympic torch, and brings it down, down, down—

Catching it again, the man rips it from Josh's hand, the force causing it to flip through the air and land behind them, several feet behind them. "What the fuck are your guys' problems?" the man asks, harsh, a scrape on his lip from the tussle with Tyler. "Why the hell are you out here?"

The dog disappears into the dark.

Josh lies on his back. Tyler is on their knees. "You—"

"Okay, shut up. We need to leave. Do you hear those sirens?  _We need to leave_."

"I can't fucking walk because your dog—"

The man is massive. He scoops Josh into his arms and with a bark of his own, he calls, "Ana!"

Big and black and brown and red, the dog appears, flashlight in its teeth, and it runs. The man runs after it. Tyler follows, reluctant. Josh's head hurts.

"Here," the man says, "in here."

Warm, soothing, the house they enter has a fire in the hearth and a pile of blankets in the corner. The dog, Ana, drops the flashlight on the floor and lies on the nest. Two more blinks, the flashlight dies.

Pine forest and cinnamon, the house they enter is safe. Once Tyler closes the front door, the man sets Josh on the couch. The cushions eat him, but he wants to vanish completely anyway.

"Sorry about Ana," the man says. "She just wanted to play."

"Her teeth—"

"The rabbit she found wasn't a good playmate."

In the security of the house Tyler was running toward in the first place, Josh can see the man fully now, no rain in his eyes to distort. Surrounded by fur, the man has a thick beard—one that Josh could obtain if he only knew proper maintenance—and a coat strewn on his torso, the lapels and inside stitched together with expensive fur, drenched. He's shouldering off the coat now, draping it across the back of an armchair, which Tyler is sitting in.

Tyler's hugging themself, suspicious of the dog to their left, but the man draws their attention, and Josh watches Tyler's face grow pink. "I love your pants."

And Tyler should. Tyler likes flowers and pastels, and the man's wearing pants made of just that. He looks down at them, like he's forgotten just what he was wearing, and laughs. "Thanks." He returns to Josh, sitting on a cushion Josh isn't using, and takes off Josh's boots and socks, slowly, carefully. "I'm really sorry," he says, and rolls up Josh's pant leg. "She wasn't trying to be mean. She—"

"Whatever."

"I can clean you up. She doesn't have rabies. She's had all her shots."

"Okay."

The man turns to Tyler. He points. "Did you drop that Capri Sun out there?"

Tyler looks at their empty hands. "Must have."

"Don't sweat it. We'll find it later. Shouldn't litter." He stands from the couch and ducks down a hallway.

Josh turns his head and stares at Tyler. Tyler shrugs.

The man has a first-aid kit. He says, "Get comfortable. We're going to be here a while."

"What's your name?" Josh asks, and smiles at the man hitting himself in the forehead with his hand.

"Shit, my bad. You guys just know my dog's name, but not mine. I'm Jon."

"I'm Josh."

"Sweet." Jon looks at Tyler, who's now getting up from the chair to go down the same hallway Jon went down before. "And he is…?"

"They are Tyler."

"They're Tyler," Jon says, quiet. "Got it. Cool." Jon sets the kit on the floor, opening it and pulling out spray, bandages, and gauze. "Look, dude, I'm really sorry about—"

"It's fine. It's okay."

"I feel bad—"

"Don't. Okay? You're okay."

Jon studies the bite marks on Josh's calf. Rows of sharp teeth didn't do as much damage as Josh thought they did. He clenches his jaw at the spray of antibacterial, but it's needed. He relaxes quickly once Jon fans his hand over the wound. He looks like he might apologize again. Josh curls his toes. Jon grabs them with his free hand.

Down the hall, the toilet flushes.

Jon presses sanitary pads to Josh's leg, now bleeding freely, and wraps it all up in gauze. "You could totally just lie here until the storm passes. I personally wouldn't recommend it, but you can."

"Why wouldn't you recommend it?"

"Uh, tornado warning? We're supposed to be on the lowest level of the house. I mean, I could carry you down there. I got a futon. Could totally blow up an air mattress if you prefer that."

"Futon sounds good. Hey, like… thanks."

"Don't mention it."

They turn their heads at Tyler sliding into the living room. Beanie stuffed into a coat pocket, their backpack on one shoulder, Tyler stands in the middle of the room, turning their phone in their hands. "It's supposed to rain for a long time."

"Dude!" Jon claps his hands, remembering something. "I got an old Nintendo, and I even got some new gaming systems, too. I have food. We're good."

Tyler isn't worried about that. They're chewing on their lips. Josh frowns. He says, "Everything will be okay," and Tyler nods.

"Help me downstairs?" Josh asks Jon, and Jon sweeps Josh into his arms and starts downstairs. The stairs creak, and the creaking only gets louder when Ana rushes past Jon to lead the way. Jon laughs.

The futon might be as comfortable as the couch. Josh lies on it, stretching, feeling at ease for the first time today. He can't hear the storm down here.

Jon leaves him alone, but when Josh opens his eyes, Tyler's in front of him, sinking to sit with him. They shove their backpack to the floor, their shoes joining it, and then they're crawling, curling, hugging Josh tightly. Ana's in the corner, an even bigger nest of blankets in the corner here, next to a space heater. When Jon comes back, a gray sweatshirt pulled onto his torso and slippers on his feet, he flips on the heater and rubs Ana's head. He throws his big coat over the railing of the stairs.

"I have to tell Joy she was right," Tyler says, exhausted.

Josh closes his eyes and holds Tyler to his chest. "You can tell her later."

It's strange to fall asleep. It's strange to fall asleep listening to something other than rain. It's strange to fall asleep listening to a zephyr in the form of an angel singing a lullaby to his red-toothed dog.


	7. Okay

He can hear the storm down here. After an hour, after just a single hour of sleep, a nap, barely anything, the wind threatens to yank the house from its foundation with each wave, breeze, motion. He tries to sleep, he tries his hardest to sleep, but after an hour of lying on the futon, he's awake, arm tossed over his eyes, his bag digging uncomfortably into his hips. Tyler's next to him, awake, too, and stirring. "Hey," they whisper, and sit up, pulling him with them. "Josh, you need to take off your binder."

Complete darkness is safe. Wind beating against the side of a house is safe. Tyler's hands crawling up Josh's shirt is safe. "Come on," Tyler sighs. "Work with me."

Josh shrugs his bag onto the floor, his coat following it. Tyler comments about his layers as they help Josh ease off his long-sleeve shirt and t-shirt underneath. Josh says, "I thought it was gonna be cold."

They're quiet. Dressed in their long johns and Josh's sweatshirt, Tyler sits next to Josh and slowly eases the binder from Josh's torso. "Deep breaths," Tyler says, pulling Josh's bag toward them to drop the binder inside. "I have a sports bra, if you want to—"

"No." Josh shakes his head, quickly pulling back on his t-shirt. "It won't fit anyway."

"You don't know that."

"Tyler, don't."

"Okay," Tyler says, mouths, quiet, quiet, quiet. "I won't."

"Come here."

Complete darkness is safe. On the futon, in their world built for two, Josh kisses Tyler, a hand to their face, and Tyler kisses Josh, a hand to his chest. Tyler's kneading, their thumb working circles into the material of Josh's shirt over his nipple. A push and pull, Tyler wants Josh on his back, and Josh wants Tyler sitting up. Tyler presses closer, and Josh welcomes that. Slow, wet, Tyler slides their lips down Josh's chin, burrowing into Josh's neck. Their teeth are sharp, but that's just in the moment. Tyler is gentle. Tyler is a flower.

Tyler's wet. Josh cups Tyler there, his palm to Tyler's clit. He estimates, and he guesses correctly. The pressure is hard, just enough to tilt Tyler's head toward the ceiling, to give Josh the upper hand. Josh's teeth are sharp, and it isn't just in the moment. "Please," Tyler says, but Josh doesn't move his hand. He evens out the pressure, shifting it to his fingers, and it's damp, it's so damp.

"You're stain—"

"It feels so good. Please, Josh."

Josh grinds his palm into Tyler's clit.

Tyler parts their lips. "Shit."

The zephyr returns, contagious, the stairs unlike clouds in every possible way. Josh pulls his hand from between Tyler's legs, ignoring the way Tyler's glaring, hissing, "You're blue-balling me here."

But they're guests in Jon's house, Jon, who's heading down the stairs, phone in his hands, his dog at his heels. Jon's humming, scat-singing, not at all worried about missing a step on the stairs or tripping over Ana darting in front of him. Jon knows this house inside and out. He can walk in the dark.

Complete darkness is safe. Jon doesn't notice the damp between Tyler's legs. He wouldn't even know to look there. Tyler pulls their legs to their chest, wrapping their arms around their thighs, tight. Josh lowers his head.

"We're still under the warning," Jon says, "but I figured that. Hey, do you mind if I turn on some lights? You guys are—uh, shit, uh—you two are awake, right?"

"Yeah," Josh says.

Jon aims the light from his phone screen under a lampshade. Despite how dim the bulb may be, it's pleasant, warm. Despite how dim the bulb may be, Josh gets a better view of his surroundings. Josh didn't expect much when Tyler and he were running toward the house—it's just a normal house with a normal basement. A little dated, with the wood paneling on the walls, and yet it's cozy, almost. The futon pressed to the back wall, a desk with a Mac across from that—the floor lamp resting next to it—the television set balancing on a milk crate, and the pile of blankets and chewed-up pillows in an adjacent corner, the basement is a space sturdy enough to house inhabitants for the next several hours—possibly days.

The space heater is still on. Ana plops into her nest and buries her paws into a pillowcase. Jon sits in the chair by the desk, rocking it, pulling a leg onto the seat with him. "When I left to go upstairs, you two were, like, two peas in a pod. Not gonna lie, I was actually pretty jealous."

Tyler's pink in the face. "All that running tuckered us out."

"Sure." Jon spins in his chair. He kicks off his slipper and places his foot in the seat again. He spins until he's facing his computer. Already on, locked, Jon types in his password one-handed and doesn't spin anymore.

Josh looks at Tyler.

Tyler licks their lips.

Josh looks at Jon.

Tyler sticks their hand down the front of their long johns. The fluttering of eyelids is enough for Josh to know their fingertips have skimmed along sensitive flesh to make their home in—

Jon says, "So, were you affected by the fires? Exited through trees. Coming from that neighborhood."

"Were you watching us?" Tyler asks, nonchalant, their fingers moving in and out, in and out.

"You could say that." Jon doesn't spin.

Josh shakes his head.

Tyler leans back, onto their elbow. The fall makes their fingers go deeper. They want to gasp, Josh can see it on their face. He shakes his head again. "Don't," he mouths.

"I didn't mean to… stalk you or anything," Jon continues. "I was out with Ana. I heard the sirens. Then, I saw you two."

"Why were you outside?" Tyler turns their head, eyes on Jon. They don't stop moving their wrist.

Josh narrows his eyes.

Jon says, "Probably the same reason as you."

Tyler slowly slides out their hand and rests it on their stomach. From here, on the other end of the futon, Josh can tell Tyler's fingers are beginning to prune.

Josh swallows.

Tyler smiles.

Jon says, "Don't mind me," and fumbles in a drawer. He finds a pair of earphones and pops the buds in his ears, stuffing the end of the cord into his phone. His leg, the one not in the chair, swings back and forth.

Tyler's smile is brighter.

Josh tugs Tyler toward him. He touches Tyler, skin on skin now, and his fingers curl, and he kisses Tyler, and Tyler takes a deep breath and another deep breath. They breathe, and Josh kisses Tyler's neck, down to their shoulder, and they arch their back and gasp and clench around Josh's fingers. "Don't stop," they say. "Don't stop."

And Josh doesn't. He watches Tyler come, and he watches Tyler come down. And he smiles. And Tyler smiles, too, and opens their mouth. Josh lets Tyler lick his fingers clean.

Jon pops out an earphone. "I actually… totally just listened to that."

Tyler's tired. They stretch out on the futon, arms above their head, shutting their eyes.

"Yeah, Tyler doesn't know how to be quiet."

"That's all right, man." Jon spins the earphone in his hand, spinning, spinning—he spins in the chair, leaning on the arm and looking at Josh, looking at Tyler. "Should catch some  _Z_ s. It's not gonna let up anytime soon."

Josh nods. "You, too."

"Nah, I'm good." Jon spins again. He's on his computer.

Tyler snores. Josh lies down next to Tyler. His leg hurts. He falls asleep to a mouse clicking.

*

Two hours now, a total of three hours of sleep, and Josh wakes. He can't sleep for long. Tyler keeps moving. They're sitting at the end of the futon, Jon and his chair rolled over to the space between Tyler's legs. One slipper on and the other off, a sleeve rolled up, Jon has Tyler's hands in his, holding them up in prayer. "Listen to me," Jon says, "you need to sleep. I know you're in agony right now, and that sucks. I know your mind's racing, and your stomach's in knots, but listen to me—listen, listen…" Jon scoots his chair closer, his knees between Tyler's knees. "Everything will be okay."

Still lying on his back, Josh can't see the way Tyler looks at Jon. Judging by how Jon begins to smile, Josh assumes Tyler is smiling, too. Tyler's smile is infectious. Josh finds himself sitting up and moving toward the end of the futon, next to Tyler, in front of Jon.

Jon says, "Hello," and Josh hears the wind blowing.

"It's not going to stop."

From here, Josh can see Tyler now, and Josh realizes he shouldn't have opened his mouth.

Tracks on Tyler's cheeks, Tyler may have only just calmed down, but the five words that left Josh's lips bring fresh tears to those tracks, and they slip and slide until Tyler's collecting them in their hands, shoulders shaking, not at all quiet when it comes to this.

Jon frowns. Josh hides his face with Tyler. "Shit, I'm sorry."

Jon takes Tyler's hands again, holding one, and uses the other to take Josh's hands from his face. Jon looks at them both, back and forth, Tyler first, and then Josh. "Everything will be okay," he repeats. "Everything  _will_  be okay."

"I'm so scared something happened." Tyler sniffs. "I don't know if I could live with myself if—"

"Hey," Jon says, "what did I tell you about talking like that?"

Tyler wipes their eyes.

Jon uses the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe Tyler's nose. "Go to sleep, okay? Sleeping will pass time. It'll be over soon."

"Okay." Tyler sounds broken.

Josh takes over when Jon goes upstairs. "Did you have a bad dream?" Josh asks, wrapping his arms around Tyler's shoulders.

"Yes." Tyler shuts their eyes. "None of our phones have service. Jon lost Internet. No power."

"That's why it's dark in here."

"I'm worried about Joy, is all. I hope she's doing all right."

"Maybe the storms haven't reached her."

"Maybe."

Jon appears, traveling down the stairs with both feet covered only by socks now. He's a little jittery, and the door slams behind him as he returns to the basement. "So…" Ana stares at him, ears perking from her corner. "One of my windows totally busted, and I managed to throw a garbage bag over the curtain rod, but… I don't see it holding up for that much longer." Kept in the crook of his elbow, the blanket he shows to Tyler and Josh is warm, thick, woven together with care. Jon says, "I made this. Do you mind if I…?"

Tyler's eyes are closed, so Josh answers. "C'mere, dude. There's room."

"Do you two need some light?" Jon continues to stand as he pulls out his phone and shines the screen around the basement. "I think I can find some candles, maybe?" Before either Josh or Tyler can give a response, Jon sets the blanket at the foot of the futon and uses his phone to aid him in finding candles. He lights one at his desk, and then lights another near the space heater, up on an end table next to Ana's nest. She narrows her eyes at it, but rests her head on her front paws in no time at all.

Beside Josh, Tyler presses their mouth to Josh's ear and doesn't move.

Jon lies down next to Josh, occupying the side of the futon with space between him and Josh. Josh and Tyler are curled up under a throw blanket already provided, their heads on top of pillows more decorative than functional. Jon uses his handmade blanket, and then gets up to pull suitable pillows for slumber from a closet near the futon, almost invisible due to the door's matching exterior with the wall around it. Three more pillows join them on the mattress, and then an extra blanket. This one is used for the winter months, if it's still considered the winter months. It's supposed to be snowing, but instead fires erupted, and now tornadoes, tornadoes, tornadoes.

Josh swears he hears glass break, but he doesn't say anything. It's safe down here.

Jon gives Ana a pat on the head and a dog treat. He climbs onto the futon and drops his discarded sweatshirt to the carpet. "Hey, are you awake?" Jon asks the darkness.

Josh says, "Yeah."

Jon lies down, tugging the blanket around his shoulders. "Do you reckon there are tsunamis in Japan and avalanches in Nepal?"

"I dunno. I haven't exactly…" Josh blinks. "Man, I haven't even given any thought to other countries."

"It's okay, dude. I haven't either." Jon fixes his pillowcase, twisted. Josh makes sure Tyler has proper head support. Jon repeats, "It's okay." He says, "I got food down here. Bathroom's just over there. The power will come back on—the Internet, too. We're gonna be okay."

"What have you been doing here while the next town over burned to a crisp?" Josh watches Jon scratch his cheek and run fingers through the cropped hair at the sides of his head. "Did you watch the town burn?"

"Yes," Jon says. "Yes, I did." He sighs. "I… I'm just… I've been down here. I got this, like, okay—I'm an animator. Sort of. Self-taught. I work myself into exhaustion. I was working on this short film when I found out about the fires. First I thought I was dehydrated and hallucinating shit, so I drank some water, ate some soup, and went to bed. But I woke up, and the fires were still there, and Ana needed to piss, so I let her out, and she ran, and I ran, and she stopped at the edge of the forest. She whined, acted like she couldn't take a step further. I continued walking. It felt weird. I didn't go far. I saw the smoke and the flames at the top of the post office, and I called for Ana, and we ran all the way home." Jon looks at Josh. "I try not to leave, but you gotta, do you know what I mean? It's like an itch you can't scratch. You gotta fucking go there."

"Yeah."

Jon looks at the ceiling. The candle on the desk lights up half of his face, a perfect profile. Josh can see a pimple at the very tip of Jon's nose, ready to make itself known in a day or two. "We should probably sleep."

"Thank you for helping Tyler," Josh says, before Jon can close his eyes. "They're… scared."

"It's natural. I'm spooked, too." Jon turns onto his side. "They, uh—yeah—they wanted to leave, but I talked them out of it. Couldn't leave you, I told them. You two been together since this started, or were you two together before?"

"They found me when I was injured. Took me in. Cared for me. I don't wanna say I owe them my life, but… if I hadn't run into them…" Josh doesn't finish.

Jon mumbles, "We gotta help each other." He closes his eyes. "You two…  _together_ …?"

"Yeah."

Jon is quiet for a moment. "That's fucking dope," he says, and rolls away.

This time when they sleep, nobody wakes after an hour.

*

Josh assumes it's morning. The previous two times he woke left his mind disorientated and his body groggy.

Body temperature above normal, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, Josh doesn't like waking from naps. This, though, this couldn't be just a nap. Josh feels good. Josh feels rested. Josh feels Tyler kneading at his breast.

Absent, more like Tyler trying to get Josh's attention than attempting to get Josh going, Tyler seems okay. No tear tracks on their face and no shivering in their bones, Tyler is simply awake and wanting Josh to turn toward them. Josh does without hesitation, and when it comes to Tyler matching their lips together, Josh doesn't wait there either.

Tyler whispers, "It's five in the morning." They don't tell Josh about the weather because Josh can already hear the wind smacking against the house. "How's your leg?"

"Doesn't hurt too bad. Just a dull pain."

"Take off your pants. You haven't even—"

"Okay, sorry."

Josh sits up, lifting his hips to remove the jeans from his legs, and then more after that. Josh lies back down only when he's stripped to boxers and t-shirt. He pulls at the front of his shirt as Tyler leans forward to check out the bandages on his leg. They're still in long johns and Josh's sweatshirt. "You need to get comfortable," Josh says, and turns his head to hear Jon snore.

Tyler's staring at Jon. The candle on the desk burns, the wick deep in the candle, most of the candle melted wax by now. It smells of vanilla. Ana sleeps in the dark.

Tyler's staring at Jon. "I can't stop thinking."

Tyler's staring at Jon. "I need to stop thinking."

"Will he help?" Josh asks. "Will he make it stop?"

"A distraction."

Josh understands. He says, "We'll help you."

"What're we doin'?" The snore was a wake-up alarm. Jon stretches, the t-shirt on his torso baggy, sleeves collecting in his armpits. He yawns, doesn't bother covering his mouth, and says, "Go back to sleep."

Tyler crawls to the other side of the futon, toward what little space Jon had between the wall and himself. Jon's eyes are open, half-lidded to watch Tyler crawl. Josh scoots closer to Jon, the futon's structure creaking. Jon stares at Josh, and then they both stare at Tyler. Jon slides over, making room, and Josh licks his lips.

"No sleeping?" Jon rubs his eyes. "That's fine. D'ya wanna talk? We can do a lot of shit with no Internet or power."

"You're right," Tyler says. "We can do a lot of shit."

Jon whispers, "Yeah."

Josh makes the first move. Eyes on Tyler, Josh leans forward and presses his lips to Jon's pulse point. Immediately Jon reacts; back arching, a knee bending slightly, he closes his eyes and parts his lips and sighs, laughs, breathy, disbelief. "I wasn't gonna say it, but I was definitely thinking it."

Jon makes the second move. He wraps his arm around Josh's hips, Josh's lower back, and tilts his head to the side. Careful, Josh presses in closer, teeth and a light suction. Jon rubs circles into Josh's back. "You wanna…?" he drifts, stretching out his other arm, toward Tyler, space available for their body to join the equation. "I've got room for you," Jon says, Josh raising his head to watch the exchange. "My heart's big enough. This futon's big enough. My bed's a hell of a lot bigger, but as of right now, I might not have a bed."

Josh ducks his head into Jon's neck, peppering a kiss there.

Tyler looks down at their nails. "I… I thought watching might be…" They don't finish.

Jon doesn't pressure them. "You can tag in at any time, okay? I'm definitely not picky when it comes to the amount of partners." His attention reverts to Josh, his hands cupping the sides of Josh's neck. They kiss, open-mouthed, Jon's tongue thick, and cold in the center. It makes Josh pause, and Jon goes, "Yeah," and Josh kisses him again.

Next to them, Tyler reclines onto their side.

Jon wraps both arms around Josh's waist, lifting him, and Josh presses both hands to Jon's chest, stopping Jon from moving him, but Jon is already doing it, already whispering, "I didn't think it was that cold in here."

"Not cold," Josh says, glancing at Tyler. Tyler looks pale in this light.

"Nipples are hard. Lemme suck on—"

"Gotta tell you something." Josh sits up. Jon touches his knee, thumb rubbing. Josh dives right in. "I have a vagina."

"You're trans?" Jon furrows his brow. "Dude, that's, like, totally fucking cool. Such a relief. Like, shit, I've only sucked one dick in my life, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself when it came to this." Jon points his finger at Josh, and then points it at himself. "Didn't mean to make this all about me."

"It's fine. I'm relieved, too."

Tyler smiles faintly.

Jon says, "One condition, and this goes for you, as well." Jon points at Tyler. Tyler takes his finger and holds it. "Wait, are you trans?"

Tyler nods.

Jon nods with them. "Fuckin' ace. Okay, one condition: I don't eat out or do oral with anyone unless they have pubes."

"You don't have to worry about that," Tyler says.

Jon rubs his hands together. "Sweet." He grabs a pillow and props up his head, eyes on Josh. "Where were we?"

"My tits." Josh pulls off his shirt.

Jon doesn't make a comment. He doesn't even touch. He just says, "C'mere, I wanna kiss you again." And Jon kisses Josh again, his hands warm as he holds Josh's hips, as he hugs Josh, as he rolls Josh onto his back, as he settles between Josh's legs and covers Josh completely. Josh runs his fingers into Jon's hair, a slow pull-through, and Tyler joins him. Tyler rubs the back of Jon's head, guiding Jon to Josh's chest, Josh's breasts, Josh's nipples. Eager for the encouragement, Jon wants to please, and he pleases.

Josh raises his hips off the futon once Jon begins to pull off the rest of his clothes. Josh doesn't say no. He doesn't say much. He keeps his eyes open, on Tyler, and raises his hips off the futon for a second time at Jon's mouth on his cunt.

Tyler licks their lips. Eyes lowering, cheeks a faint pink in the dim light, Tyler cards their fingers into Jon's hair again, not forcing, just comfort, slow. Tyler pushes Jon's hair from his forehead, gathering it all in their fist. Jon's hair isn't remarkably long, but it's enough for Tyler's fist or a bun.

"You taste so damn good," Jon whispers, and slowly drags the width of his tongue up Josh's cunt, spreading his labia and flicking the tip along his clit.

Josh shudders. "Yeah?"

"You've tasted him before, yeah?" Jon asks Tyler, eyes wide, lips spread in a big grin. He looks like a fucking pup. "You've tasted him loads. C'mere, taste him on my tongue."

Leaping forward, touching Jon's shoulders, his neck, Tyler kisses, and Tyler kisses, and Jon laughs into Tyler's mouth. "C'mere," he says, nothing to it, and Josh moves his legs, giving Jon room to roll onto his back, Tyler on top of him, kissing him again. Deep, deep, deep, Tyler moans, and Josh rubs his clit and sticks his arm behind a pillow.

Tyler feels along Jon's face, the facial hair, and Jon tilts his head to the side and holds the back of Tyler's head, his hand protective, nurturing. Josh slides a finger inside his cunt. Tyler sees. Jon hears. Tyler crawls, and so does Jon. To his mouth, Tyler, and to his cunt, Jon, Josh falls into bliss. He kisses Tyler and curls his toes at Jon pressing two fingers inside. Easy, warm, Jon lightly pecks Josh's clit and moves his wrist. It's not enough.

"Fuck me," Josh says. "I want you to fuck me."

"With my dick?" Jon raises his eyebrow.

"With your dick," Tyler says, butting into the conversation with a firm request. "Fuck him. He needs it." Tyler turns to touch between Josh's legs. They get close, their forehead almost touching Jon's, as they use both sets of fingers to spread Josh open. "Look how wet he is." Jon slowly pulls out his fingers and pushes them back inside.

"Loose, too."

"He's ready for you. Take him. He wants it so bad."

Jon pushes himself from the futon. Lying somewhere on the floor, Jon picks up whoever's phone and uses the light from the screen to duck into the small bathroom off to the side. He's only gone for a moment. Tyler lies next to Josh during this. A lazy recline, Tyler stares at Josh. They say, "I'm okay."

Josh takes Tyler's hand. "I'm okay, too."

A box in hand that he tosses onto the floor, along with a careful setting down of the cell phone, Jon pulls off his t-shirt. "You sure you wanna do this?" Jon pauses. "We can stop."

"I'm sure." Josh pats his clit. "Hurry up."

Tyler rests their cheek on a pillow, lips parting at Jon shoving off the remainder of his clothing. They're quiet. Josh is not.

"Put that fucking cock inside me now."

Jon laughs, has to laugh. "Wait, wait—lemme get out a condom." Despite how suave the front he puts up, Jon struggles when it comes to the condom. Tyler sits up to help him, carefully rolling on the condom and giving his hip a gentle pat right after. Even from here, even in the dark, Josh watches Tyler tremble. They bite at their lips and at their nails, and Jon wraps his arm around Tyler's shoulders and kisses their forehead, the bridge of their nose. "Okay?" The concern in his eyes is endearing, respectful. It heats in Josh's stomach.

Tyler nods. "I'm okay. Need help?"

It's a tease. Jon takes it as such. "Hell yeah. I'm a fucking virgin. Ain't got a clue what I'm doing right now." The accent in Jon's voice is southern, a twang that arches Jon's eyebrow and pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Tyler plays along well enough. They don't adopt an accent. They whisper, eyes hooded. "It's been a while, but I think you gotta put your dick inside his cunt and fuck him until he can't think."

Jon doesn't miss a beat. He smacks Tyler's ass, a parting gesture, and hovers above Josh, a hand on each side of his head. It's a swoop, an animal, a bat. They're in darkness, Jon's eyes glowing, Jon's lips on Josh's lips, Jon's fucking cock pushing into Josh's cunt.

Josh gasps. Jon takes it. He swallows, and he kisses Josh again. Tyler speaks for him. "Yeah," they say. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

No fear of the futon collapsing, Jon isn't gentle. Josh would have preferred to be gentle. He would have preferred to have arms around him, soft, firm, and a set of hips grinding into his—deep, like Jon kissed Tyler; deep, like Jon's fucking Josh now. Deep and swift, Josh remembers his experiences aren't everybody else's; everybody didn't go out as soon as the world ended and fucked their neighbors—they couldn't even fathom putting themself into that position.  _We need to get out. We need to protect ourselves. We need, we need, we need_ —Josh needed to fuck. Josh needed to scream. Josh needed to ignore and forget and get scared, get worried. Josh needed to be alive.

Jon isn't gentle. Jon bites. Josh can't think. His thighs hug Jon's waist, his arms around Jon's neck. Jon has hold of a pillow by Josh's head, hanging on, too, pulling, moaning. Jon's moans are loud, deeper than his thrusts, and Josh tries to match it, but can't. Josh is speechless. Josh is a bridge with a creek beneath him. He comes, a shallow wave. Jon slows, and Josh rides those waves until his toes go numb from how hard he curls them.

"There you go," Jon says, stroking Josh's hips. "There you fucking go."

Josh winces when Jon pulls out, and he winces again at the press of something cold to his foot, his ankle, up to his bandaged calf. The wince is of more surprise than pain—the fear of being hurt. Jon looks down, Tyler grabs Jon's hand, and Jon sighs and says, "It's just Ana."

Ana's dark eyes peer over the edge of the futon. Hiding, a monster under the bed, Ana wags her tail.

Jon says, "Just checking if you were okay."

"I'm okay."

Jon lies down, his feet hanging off the futon to let Ana lick his toes. Breathing, just breathing, Jon's erection needs to be sated. Josh stares at it. He shuts his eyes. He opens his eyes.

Tyler's removing their clothes and leaning over to grab the box of condoms. "Need a new one," Tyler says, to themself, to Jon, and replaces the condom.

"Shit, are those nipple piercings?" Jon laughs and claps. It sounds like thunder. "Are you fucking serious?" He looks like a kid on Christmas.

Tyler sits on Jon's hips, trying to be confident. "You can touch them if you help me."

"Gotta put my dick inside your cunt," Jon says, "and fuck you until you can't think."

" _Please_."

"Okay."

Josh watches Tyler bounce. He watches Tyler squirm. He watches Ana pace the room. He watches Jon cup Tyler's breast. He watches Jon pinch Tyler's nipple. He watches Jon rub Tyler's clit. He watches Tyler cry. He watches Tyler wiggle their hips. He watches Ana tentatively sniff the stairs. He watches Tyler milk Jon for everything he has, and he watches Tyler come on Jon's dick and wipe their eyes and shiver and fall into Jon's arms.

Jon embraces Tyler, but he stares at Josh. "That good?" he asks, voice low to make Tyler shake more. Jon squeezes Tyler, bending his knees to pull Tyler closer. "Baby, you felt so wet around my dick. Clenching it like that. God, my God, you were so greedy. Wanted everything for yourself."

Tyler cries and cries. Jon pats Tyler's back, cooing, the voice of the zephyr.

Josh gets off the futon. He reaches between Jon's legs and carefully eases off the condom, tying it to the other discarded condom. Fumbling with it, limping toward the bathroom, using the same cell phone light as Jon, Josh neglects to remember the last time he used protection when it came to vaginal intercourse.

Ana has taken his spot by the time he returns. Tyler is keeping to themself, curled into the wall. Jon is up, naked, a blanket draped over his lap and a lit cigarette in his mouth. "Sorry." The apology is soft, laced with guilt. He goes to grind the tip into the ashtray balancing on his knee.

"Don't stop," Josh says. "Just… not a lot." He moves behind Ana. "Don't wanna suffocate in here."

The candle is so dim; the red tip of Jon's cigarette is brighter than it. "That was fun."

"A distraction." Josh covers his face with both hands. "Not that… we don't appreciate your company."

"Never fucked two good-looking fellas in one night." Jon flicks away ash. "Morning. It's morning. I'm tired."

Josh knows what that means. "Go to sleep," he says, because Jon needs to hear it from someone other than himself. "Go to sleep," Josh says. "Everything will be okay."

On the edge of that futon, with his handmade blanket on his thighs, Jon sits with his head in his hands and a shake in his shoulders.

"Do you need a distraction?" Josh raises onto an elbow, lowering onto his side when Jon slides into place, nestled in close with Ana on his right and Tyler on his left. He gathers the dog into his arms.

"Just need to sleep."

"What breed is she?"

"Mostly Rottweiler."

Josh takes one of Ana's paws. It twitches.

It's easier to sleep after getting past the knock-knock-knocking of the wind on the basement door.

*

Josh doesn't know why he expects to see Jon and Tyler intertwined with each other upon waking. Racing in his chest, his heart wakes him, anticipation, and he rolls and gets a face full of dark fur. Ana is still present, lightly snoozing now. Josh looks over her body and sees Jon and Tyler are indeed awake, but they aren't intertwined. They're barely touching.

Side by side, they sit, bad postures and their heads low. Jon has one arm through his shirt, while Tyler remains naked. Their faces are illuminated by the glow of a phone.

Josh says, "Do we have Internet?"

Jon blinks. He rubs his face. "Spotty."

The wind is quiet.

Tyler moves around on the futon. They sit next to Josh, almost on his lap, and lean over to grab their bag. Josh knows what Tyler's getting, and he takes this brief moment of solace to kiss Tyler's shoulder.

"Gotta check…" Jon moves around the room, tugging his shirt on the rest of the way. His thumb finds the switch on the lamp.

The room alights. Jon's smile is brighter than it. "Right on!" He lowers his gaze to the phone in his hands again, standing there in just a white t-shirt that's bunched up on one side.

On the futon, in Josh's lap, Tyler spreads Androgel over their shoulders and arms and applies it for Josh, too.

"Okay, here," Jon says, unable to finish a sentence. He tosses the phone onto the futon, next to one of Ana's paws, and grabs clothes from the floor.

Tyler snatches a pair of shorts to wipe the excess gel from their hands before taking the phone. They lean against Josh, shoulder to shoulder, and scroll, too fast for Josh to read. A blur, Josh shifts to something static, something consistent, and so he focuses on Jon dressing. He's pulled on those flower pants and tugged his hair into a bun. "What does it say?" Shaking his wrist, he undoes the bun and tries it again, tighter this time, messy.

"The tornado warning passed an hour or so ago." Tyler sniffs. Josh rubs their back. "The radar looks"—Tyler holds the screen close to their face, using both their thumbs to pinch and zoom the map—"clear for the most part, but… I think this might be rain." They show it to Josh. "What do you think?"

At a reasonable distance, Josh doesn't have to squint to look at the doppler radar. "Rain, yeah. Tonight."

"Thunderstorms?" Jon crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm not sure. I wouldn't doubt it."

"We need to leave now," Jon decides. "Leave the basement, I mean. Inspect the damage."

"Can't put on my clothes yet." Tyler shrugs. "This needs to dry."

Jon sits down in the desk chair, his foot pushing him back until the desk stops him. "I can wait." Jon doesn't want to leave the basement. He chews on his lips and picks at his nails and looks at nothing but Ana, and he doesn't want to leave the basement. Josh has only known Jon for less than twenty-four hours, and yet Josh thinks he can read the anxiety on Jon's face, the reluctance, the doubt. Josh thinks Jon might need a hug or a blanket. Jon thinks the same. He gets up from the chair and lies down on the futon, cocooning himself with the blanket. Shivers take over.

Tyler stretches, their palm to what Josh assumes is Jon's ass. Jon arches into the touch, voice muffled. It's muffled and doesn't make sense. It's not supposed to make sense. Jon is coping, in his own way.

After the gel dries, Josh and Tyler dress in clothes from their bags, layers, always layers. Long johns and jeans, Josh succumbs to pulling on one of Tyler's sports bras. Tyler straightens a strap. "Does it… fit?"

"Maybe we are the same cup size," Josh says.

T-shirts and sweatshirts on next, Tyler slides their hand under Jon's blanket. They don't move. Eventually Jon takes their hand.

Josh fixes a beanie on his head and does the same for Tyler, still occupied with Jon. Ana watches Josh do this, awake with slow blinking eyes. She takes up most of the futon. It's a wonder how they all managed to sleep comfortably.

"Are you ready to go?" Tyler squeezes Jon's hand.

"Yes."

They lace up boots in silence. Adding weight to his leg is a bad decision on Josh's part. He wobbles. The wall saves him from further embarrassment.

Dressed warmly, wrapped in fur and more fur, Jon turns to Josh, arms already outstretched in preparation. "Want me to carry you?"

"Turn around," Josh says, and Jon crouches to allow Josh to climb on. A piggyback, Josh reaches over to grab his bag, swinging it on, and then wraps his arms around Jon's neck. Not too tight and not too loose, Jon keeps a firm grasp on the backs of Josh's thighs. "Don't drop me." Josh presses his cheek to Jon's shoulder, the fur lapels wide and smelling of rain.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Do you have a bag? I can carry it."

Josh finds the messenger bag next to the desk. Jon lowers himself to allow Josh to pick it up and sling it over his head.

"Got it."

Jon looks at Tyler, at Ana, before starting upstairs to take the first step to seeing the other side of the door. Behind him, Tyler sticks all electronics into their backpack, along with the clothes strung across the room and the thick blanket Jon made himself, and pulls out a granola bar. Ana sniffs accusingly. Josh smiles.

Tyler breaks off a piece and stands on tiptoe to carefully place it in Josh's mouth. Ana trots by Tyler's heels.

The basement door requires no force to open it. Jon's fingertips graze the door knob—that's it, that's all, and the door falls from its hinges, splinters in the middle, down at the bottom. Unable to see the expression on Jon's face, Josh takes the lead. They have to push on. "Go," he tells Jon. "Don't look back."

Jon looks back. Jon looks around. He can't stop. "M-my house…"

"Don't think about that," Tyler says, taking the lead from Josh, from Jon. They pull their beanie over their ears and gaze at the ruin before them. Josh stares, too. It's impossible to not stare at broken glass, overturned furniture, and the sheer absence of what makes a house a house.

No roof, the remainder of the walls barely walls at all, the frame looks ready to fall apart at any moment. Jon squeezes Josh's thighs, pulling him closer absently. "My fucking house…"

"We have to go," Tyler says.

"I have  _nothing_."

"We have to go," Josh says.

"My computer, I still have—"

Josh knocks his hips into the small of Jon's back, shaking his head from side to side. "No, we have to go. I have money. Jon,  _I have money._  Just walk. Follow Tyler."

Jon doesn't move. He stands in the middle of what used to be the living room, next to a coffee table broken into a hundred pieces. Josh doesn't need to see Jon's face to know he's crying.

Ana has something in her mouth. Dirty, Josh thinks it might have been dragged in from the storm, but Jon takes it from her as if it's something familiar. From up here, looking down Jon's shoulder, maintaining balance with just a single hand holding him up now, Josh sees it's a baby doll, Raggedy Ann with leaves for her hair and mud for her nose. Something about it makes Jon cry harder. Tyler watches him do this, the last bits of the granola bar in between their fingers. And something about the way Jon handles the doll makes Tyler's eyes begin to fog. Josh finds himself frowning, and Tyler does, too, after catching Josh's eye.

"We're not leaving you." Tyler tilts their head. "You're coming with us. Do you got that?"

Jon's nodding is practically defiant, but Tyler can read Jon's face. Josh looks at the back of Jon's head and chances kissing it. Jon's shoulders relax. He pockets the doll. "Yeah, I got that."

"When this is all over," Josh says, "we can return and see if anything is salvageable. If not… like I said, I have money."

Ana wags her tail.

Tyler finishes the granola bar and picks up an empty Capri Sun pouch from the front step. "Let's go." They don't try to pull out spray paint.

As a unit, they depart Jon's house. Off to the side, the neighborhood in the distance is in absolute destruction, as well. Jon looks upon it, Josh placing his hand to Jon's forehead and running it up to the crown of his head. Strands of loose hair aside and a gesture of comfort, Jon turns his eyes onto Josh. Eyebrows perfect arches as he stares with parted lips and something soft behind his irises, Jon tightens his hold on Josh's legs. His thumbs rub circles. Josh does the swooping motion again, this time covering Jon's eyes. More playful now, Jon smiles, and Josh smiles with him.

Chaotic weather, by fire and by twister, destroys two towns in a row. Separated by only a forest, Josh thinks of the trees as a divider, segregating one disaster from another. Like Tyler said on their journey through the evergreens, the forest might be a portal. Even Jon said Ana acted like she couldn't take a step further at the edge of the trees. Josh is liable to believe the forest is magical. On their walk, even as far back as Jon's house, Josh could see the forest ahead, and it continued to stand tall. Up close, now inside the thickets of darkness, Josh knows none of the trunks have been uprooted, and he knows none of the branches have been snapped.

The air inside this forest is still. Ana doesn't like it. She's growling, not quelling at the sound of Jon whistling or clicking his tongue. They don't venture far into the forest when Ana decides to turn around and run back the way they came.

"Hey!" Jon shouts, letting go of Josh's thigh to grab for Ana's collar, but the dog is fast, and Jon clenches air. "Ana! Ana, where are you going?" Jon holds Josh's legs and takes off running. Josh hangs on, hiding his face in the fur of Jon's coat. He can hear Tyler skidding to catch up with them.

In the field again, dodging stray debris and parts of houses from the neighborhood over, Ana leads them toward a creek on the outskirts of the town. She leaps into it, drenching her fur, and immediately appears happier. Her tongue hangs out the side of her mouth, and her tail becomes a propeller for a sailboat.

Jon sighs, panting, and shakes his head. "Stupid dog." He doesn't mean it. He's smiling.

Tyler doesn't stop running. Instead of turning to the left and going to the banks of the creek, they continue their trek to the town. Josh rests his hands on Jon's shoulders and pushes himself up to see what Tyler sees, but it's too far. He sinks back down, Jon giving his leg a pat. "Kinda off topic," Jon says, "but I really think we should make out again soon."

Josh's cheeks burn. "Totally. All three of us, though, preferably."

Jon laughs. "Shut up. Getting my dick hard right now."

"You brought it up."

"Hey!" Tyler's voice is small. "Hey, Josh! Jon! C'mere!"

Jon doesn't run this time. Mindful of Josh, he does a slight jog, calling for Ana to follow. She does so with wet paws and water dripping from her coat.

They find Tyler where the creek fans into a larger pond, complete with a playground accompanying it. Swing sets overturned, a jungle gym collapsed in on itself, and benches desecrated entirely, the park is flooded, the mud and lily pads gluing to the soles of their boots and Ana's paws. The dog immediately high-steps it back into the water. She goes under, Jon shouts, and she emerges with seaweed on her head. Jon says, "Stupid dog," again and watches her wade in the pond.

Tyler's picking up a knocked-over trash can, dumping Capri Sun and granola bar wrappers inside and stepping over the litter spilled across the makeshift swamp. With each step, they sink further and further into the mud, until finally they're up to their ankles in it, holding onto the side of a van currently disappearing into the pond before them. This is what Tyler wanted Josh and Jon to see. Tyler struggles to heave themself from the mud, using the roof of the van to pull, pull, pull.

Josh digs his heels into Jon's sides, and Jon takes this as incentive to move toward Tyler. He's careful, examining the ground and gently applying pressure to the soil with the toe of his shoe to gauge what weight it can hold. Eventually Jon decides getting to Tyler is more important than a good set of boots, so he stomps the rest of the way, bringing up drowned grass and earthworms.

"What's in the van?" Josh asks.

Jon already knows what it is. "I think it belonged to these two guys. Film students. They lived over there." Jon points to the town several feet away. "I ran into them sometimes before all of this. I saw them driving away before the fires broke out. Had no idea where they went."

Tyler's out of the mud, but they sink again as soon as they begin walking around the van, toward the submerged front. The doors are flung open, inhabitants vanished. Tyler holds onto the door as they pull their phone from their pocket.

"Do you know their names?" Josh rests his chin on Jon's head, mindful of his bun.

"Brad… or something…? Can't say for certain."

A sudden vibration comes beneath Jon's foot. Josh looks down, able to feel it, as well, and Jon takes a step backwards and bends down to grab the device. It's impossible to see what's on the screen; the mud is soaked through. "How does this still work?"

"It's Mark's phone. It's Mark's phone." Tyler hangs up and sticks their phone in their pocket. "It's Mark's phone. This is their van. They must have wrecked because of—of—of—"

"I'll write a note, okay? Is that a thing people do?"

Tyler uses the exterior of the van to help push themself through the mud. They are a plow. "I don't see anything inside," they say, hands cupped around their eyes to look in a window. "Do you think that means they got out? If all their equipment is gone?"

"Sure," Josh says.

Jon has Josh look in his bag for anything to write on and with. Josh fishes out an old washcloth and Sharpie. It's unconventional, but gets the job done. Cap between his teeth, Jon scribbles  _Hope you're okay—Jon, Josh, and Tyler._  He lets the Sharpie drop into his pocket so Josh doesn't have to remove his bag again. On a broken table, with a singular seat still standing, Jon sets the cloth there with the phone on top of it for a weight. The cloth is pink, eye-catching. Jon says, "They might return."

Josh hugs Jon around the neck and presses a kiss behind his ear.

Ana barks. She jumps from the pond, a goose at her heels. Jon laughs at her, then quickly stops. "Tyler—"

"Yeah." Tyler's attempting to shrink themself toward the van's empty shell. "I'm stuck."

"Shit." Josh rubs his eyes.

Jon tries to be quiet, tries not to rouse attention. Ana's preoccupying the goose now, running in circles, but nobody knows how long that will work. Ana is already slowing down, running further into the field, away from the park, and soon the goose will be left with them.

"If you want me to break my ankles, I'd be happy—"

"I was gonna carry you anyway," Jon says, in front of Tyler and steadily sinking. "Take my hand."

The goose honks.

Tyler grabs both of Jon's hands, and Josh leans forward to grab Tyler's forearms. Any little thing helps, and they pull, pull, pull until Tyler's boots come free with a sickening pop. Breathless, Tyler laughs, and Jon wastes no time in swooping Tyler off their feet and into his arms bridal style. "Hold on," he tells Josh, and takes off running.

Honking and honking, the goose spreads its wings and doesn't move. It watches the three of them flee, triumphant. Jon says it was probably scared. Jon says it probably wouldn't have hurt them anyway.

Jon asks, once they're in the field, if they want to go back and see the town.

Tyler says, "No. I can't imagine it'd be much different from the one hit by fire."

Jon asks, once they enter the forest, Ana waiting patiently for them under a tree, if Tyler is able to walk.

Tyler says, "Yes, but how about you carry me the rest of the way?"

With a smile on his face and a Rottweiler by his side, Jon says, "Just tell me where to go," and holds Tyler a bit tighter.

The atmosphere of the forest has changed since their departure from the park. Still quite stagnant, Josh considers the forest is not as magical as he once thought. On closer inspection, he can see some of the tree limbs have indeed been broken off from the high-powered winds, and the very tips of the evergreens scorched away by wildfire. Tyler sees it, too, and they reach up, fingers outstretched, for Josh's hand. Josh laces their fingers together, squeezes, and lets Tyler's hand go limp in his.

Quiet, but not as quiet as it once was, Josh can see people from the fire-ruined town move around, clearing out old buildings and wheeling dumpsters through the streets. He doesn't want to go through the town. Tyler's truck is parked at the edge of the forest, hidden, and Tyler will make sure they won't disturb the quaint little town.

Ana is better upon exiting the forest. Her head low to the ground, ears pulled back, she had been on alert for anything to attack them. Now, though—now she's a happy dog again, tail spinning, bouncing in place. Jon rubs the top of her head after helping Tyler to their feet.

The mud on Tyler's boots makes them an inch or two taller and very unbalanced. It doesn't stop them from going toward their truck and jamming their keys into the driver's side door.

Jon eases Josh off his back, hands not willing to leave Josh's body. "I can ride in the bed," Jon says, "with Ana."

Tyler manages to get the door open. They stretch over the seat to lodge the key into the ignition and twists it until the engine starts. A sigh leaves their parted lips, slowly spreading into a smile. Nobody wants to be stuck here for that much longer, perhaps Tyler more than anybody else here.

"That's fine," Tyler says, walking on unsteady feet toward the back of their truck. "I can take this down." They pat the cloth cap, pausing a moment to admire how sturdy it is. "Would you want fresh air?"

"Too much fresh air." Jon pulls open the door, and Ana jumps into the bed. "A little more shouldn't hurt."

With Josh's help, Tyler retracts the cap. Jon suggests he do it, but Tyler bats away his hands without a scold or a glare. Just simple smacks, Tyler doesn't even look at Jon. They're focused on securing the cap, making sure it won't fly off, won't leave a trace.

Josh, now level with Ana, leans on the truck to scratch between her shoulders. Jon, once more—with feeling—apologizes for her, but Josh shakes his head and lets the big dog lick at his cheek. "I'll be better tomorrow."

Tyler gives Ana a rub before going back around the front of the truck. Door left open, Tyler hops inside, legs the last thing entering the vehicle. Trying to touch as little mud as possible, Tyler plucks at their shoestrings until the boots drop to the ground beside the truck. Tyler's wearing white socks, now stained a faint brown color from leaks in the boots. They peel off those next.

Getting into the passenger side, Josh doesn't notice Jon is in front of Tyler until he tugs on his seatbelt. Jon has Tyler's boots in one hand, hanging by their laces, and Tyler's socks bundled up in the other. "I can totally scrape these off when—"

Tyler's hands come to Jon's chest, not pushing, not shoving, resting and nothing more. "You don't have to do that. I was gonna make Josh do it."

"Hey."

Tyler smiles. They perk up, straightening their spine and pulling their shoulders back. Jon meets them halfway, wrapping his lips around Tyler's bottom one. Josh can hear suction, a little saliva mixing, and Tyler breathing deeply. Josh can tell Tyler doesn't want to stop, but Tyler breaks it, takes their shoes and socks from Jon's hands, and swings their body around to face the steering wheel. "Get in the back," they say. "I won't drive too erratic."

Jon lingers there, his eyes dark and now scanning Josh. Josh is too far away for a proper kiss, so Jon blows one. Josh smiles and slumps in his seat. "I'll make sure they don't speed."

"Speed all you want," Jon says, and shuts the door for Tyler. He climbs into the bed of the truck, standing for a moment to check out their surroundings, and then drops to sit next to Ana, as close to the cab as possible. Josh watches them from the rear-view mirror. Jon pets Ana, slides in close to sling his arm around her, and she molds to his side, to his chest. She disappears from view.

Tyler's watching, too, drawing out a clean pair of socks from their backpack. "Do you think he can hear us?" they ask, tossing their bag to the floor, by Josh's feet and their ruined boots and socks.

"Maybe not, if we whisper. Why?"

They roll on the pair of socks, curling their toes into the thick red fabric. "I wanted to talk to you about him." Already started and ready to drive, Tyler surveys the area and gently presses down on the gas. The truck is slow, crawling.

"Don't tell me you're second guessing him," Josh says, laughing. "What would Brendon think? Tyler not trusting a stranger right away?"

"Not a stranger. I fucked his dick." Tyler lets go of the wheel to plug in their seatbelt. "And it was a good dick and a good fuck."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Not exactly." Tyler glances at the rear-view mirror. They chew on their lips. "I think he's connected to Joy somehow. I don't know how, but—shit, Josh—a fucking kid doesn't dream about a dog that many times unless they've seen it somewhere."

Josh eyes the rear-view mirror. "You think Joy's seen Ana before? And Jon?"

"I don't know." Tyler rubs their face, one hand at the bottom of the wheel. "I'm just trying to make sense of it all… He doesn't know she's my daughter… just that she's close to me, the way I was talking about her. Probably thinks she's my baby sister."

"Okay." Josh looks ahead, refusing to look at the town and its dehydrated interiors. "What if… she… okay, what did she say about that dog? It ate people. She said she was going to tell the court, if it ever came to that, that she saw that dog eat her parents. I know you said there wasn't a dog when you found her and left her parents for dead, but… is it possible she… she saw  _something_  like that?"

Along with their teeth, Tyler uses their fingers to pick at their lips. A scrape and a slow pull, Tyler skins their bottom lip and brings pink, fresh flesh to the surface. "It's possible," they whisper, lower than both they and Josh were talking previously. "There was one night, on our way back to the dormitory, I think she snuck out." Tyler flicks away the dead skin and resumes picking. "She wasn't in my arms when I woke, which, yeah, it isn't strange because people move in their sleep, but she smelled off. She smelled like outside. Her shoes were dirty, and she had her leg on. I took it off before we went to bed. I didn't forget. I wouldn't forget something like that."

"So, she snuck out," Josh says, "and she watched her parents get eaten by a dog."

"I didn't think we were close to where I left her parents. We walked for hours. I carried her. We were far from them."

"Maybe they followed you."

"Maybe." Tyler keeps their hands in their lap, driving without them on the wheel. It's a straight shot. Tyler lightly taps the wheel to keep them on the road. "I never even thought about that possibility until now." They look at Jon's reflection.

"Who's to say how long Jon's had her, you know? Maybe he came across her. Maybe he's guilty by association."

Tyler mulls over this. Finally, they shrug and grip the wheel in two hands, in the proper driving position. "Either way, I think he had a kid, or at least some kid in his life who greatly impacted him. No one fucking tears up at a Raggedy Ann doll for no reason."

Josh nods. "Yeah." He drums his fingers on the dash, leaned forward on his elbows. "Okay, what if Jon was involved? That's not a bad thing, is it? Joy's happier now."

"I suppose."

Josh sighs. "I dunno. If Jon didn't have Ana from the beginning, then she might have rabies. I know he said she was up to date on her shots, but he could have been lying."

"Don't say that. Don't think about that." Tyler blinks. They shift their weight onto a leg, shoving their hand into their pocket to reveal their phone. Excited, eyes almost as bright as a flash of lightning, Tyler fumbles with the buttons and the touchscreen. Josh stares at them, amazed, and smiles at their voice.

"Hey, girlie. Yeah, it's me." Tyler looks like a child, glowing. "Did you take Brendon's phone from him…? I'm so proud of you."

Josh glances at Jon and Ana, not in the rear-view, but turning in his seat. Jon's petting her still, and is now rotating that doll in his hand. His shoulders are low, his gaze pointed ahead, at the retreating road.

"What have you been up to? No, wait, lemme guess—coloring!"

Jon lets go of the doll and drops his head in his hands. Ana raises her upper body, sitting now.

"What? Not coloring? What were you doing, then?"

Jon cries.

"You're gonna have'ta tell me all about it when we get back. Speaking of which, that's why I called: we're on our way home. Got caught up in the storms, but we're okay. Everybody's okay."

Losing himself, no fear of being caught, Jon tips forward until he becomes one with the truck bed, his large fur coat engulfing him. The sky above is gray.

"I have some good news," Tyler says, unaware of what's happening behind them. They're driving, foot inching down on the gas.

Ana tilts her head, ears up from the whip of the wind. Her eyes are black, and they stare into Josh's eyes.

"We made some new friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> joshlerellion


	8. Fill

Tyler's shaking as they fumble at the radio. Pink eyes, red eyes, their lips are dried red. They whisper, they murmur, "Now and then, I think of all the times you screwed me over."

Curled tightly, injured leg propped up on the dashboard, Josh wishes he were lying down. He wishes his head didn't hurt, and he wishes his leg didn't fucking throb.

"But had me believe it was always something that I'd done." Tyler doesn't look at the road. They focus on the radio, fingertips lightly poised on the dial, searching for channels, mumbling and mumbling.

Josh turns his head. His own eyes burn. Jon is gone from view, taking advantage of the pillows and blankets in the bed of the truck. Ana is sat up, head tilted back. She breathes.

"But I don't wanna live that way," Tyler says, pulling hand from radio to return to wheel. Josh watches their eyes widen as they turn back onto their side of the road. "Reading into every word you say," Tyler continues. "You said that you could let it go, and I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know."

"Tyler," Josh says, "you shouldn't have gone to school to be a vet."

Tyler isn't looking at the road anymore. They're looking at the sky. Josh is looking at the sky, too. "We're almost there." Tyler closes their eyes. "I packed our toothbrushes, and we didn't even use them."

"Open your eyes."

Tyler does. They sniff. "I feel like I've been driving for too long."

"Maybe we're in a portal."

"Funny."

Josh says, "It's going to rain," and Tyler says, "I want to sleep."

Tyler says, "We're here." Still on the passenger side, Tyler grabs their boots and shoves them onto their feet. They could care less about the mud. They want to be inside.

The apartment complex is dark, daunting, and not one bit damaged. Nothing around the building had been damaged—no broken trees, no power lines down, Josh gazed out the car window and counted streetlamps and television sets waving behind living room curtains.

"We got rain before." Josh rubs his knees. "D'ya think this is the only-give-this-rain area?"

"Gotta check the news when we get in." Tyler gets out their phone and turns it around in their hands, over and over. "I should text…" They don't finish. They text.

Josh flinches at the knuckles against the window. Like nails against a chalkboard, Josh curls his fingers and wants to dig them inside his ears. It's Jon, though, and he's waiting for Josh to give him the a-okay to open the door. So, Josh nods, Jon opens the door, and Josh says, "My prince charming," with a laugh, and Jon laughs as he picks Josh up. After, he grabs Josh's bag and slings it over his shoulder, his own bag over his neck. Close, almost like an infant, Josh turns into Jon's chest, the fur, and he shivers, and Jon hugs him.

"Tyler?" Jon goes, Ana sliding her muzzle along the asphalt of the parking lot. "You ready?"

Tyler gets out of the truck, bookbag on, and glances at the back of the truck. Jon has already pulled the cap up and made sure the vehicle is locked tight. The sky is gray. If Josh concentrates hard enough, he can hear thunder.

"I'm ready," Tyler says, and pulls at their backpack straps. They shrug, nodding toward the third floor of the building before them. "Lights're on."

"Do you think more people returned?" Josh stares at Tyler, watching them scrub at their face. "Mark and his family… Dallon…?"

"Brendon would like it if Dallon returned." Tyler looks down at their phone.

Josh wiggles in Jon's arms. "Lemme try to walk." Jon lets him, an arm around Josh's waist to aid him. He's guilty. Josh grins reassuringly, and it does nothing.

Tyler says, "Okay, Sarah says Joy's with her and Brendon. Asleep. We can surprise her in the morning." Tyler smiles, then, and it's as bright as the lights on the third floor. "We can make her some pancakes."

"Your landlord," Jon says, as they walk toward the apartment building. "Do they… have a policy about… animals…?"

"No. You're okay. Ana's okay." Tyler looks at the dog in question. She's looking at Tyler, waiting, her tail wagging. Her lips part, her tongue slides out, and she smiles. Shoving their phone into their pocket, Tyler rubs the top of Ana's head. "You're okay."

The building is quiet. Some doors are open, cracked, letting out scents of family dinners; spices, just a twinge of lavender from a Glade PlugIn, Josh finds it more difficult to walk after passing these doors. Either his leg coincidentally aches or it's psychosomatic. Memories leak, his heart breaks, and Jon, after raising an eyebrow, lifts Josh to keep weight off his leg. It isn't bridal style this time—Jon has Josh wrapped around his waist, Josh's cheek to his shoulder. An infant once again, Jon cradles Josh and continues walking, squeezing absently once they pass more rooms with their doors cracked.

Tyler is dragging their feet. Caked on, flaking, the mud on their boots doesn't leave nearly as much of a track as there would be if the mud were still wet. In the truck, Tyler had said they wanted to sleep, but as soon as the door of their apartment unit shuts behind them, they shift to a more energetic person. As if instantaneously fueled upon entry, Tyler flutters about with purpose. They ditch their bag and boots in the living room and disappear into the bathroom to get a first-aid kit. And after that, they don't stop; they turn into the kitchen and flip on the light above the stove. Josh thinks they might start cooking. He continues to watch the force that is Tyler as Jon sets him on the couch and inspects the first-aid kit.

"Chicken sandwiches?" Tyler asks, head in the freezer, standing on tiptoe. They're still wearing their beanie and windbreaker. "I could fix an extra for Ana."

"Thank you," Jon says, and Tyler takes the box from the freezer and checks their bun supply. They glance at the pile of rotting fruit on the island, taking a detour in their cooking to bin the fruit. Josh is still watching them, even as Jon undresses him. Shoes, socks, coat, pants, Jon strips Josh down to a t-shirt and his boxers. As comfortable as Josh in his t-shirt-and-flower-pants combo, Jon is having a feel of the place, wanting it to be home, needing it to be home. Ana finds a suitable spot in the corner and curls up on Jon's fur coat, taken from Jon as he occupies himself with tending to Josh's leg. Jon doesn't mind. He says Ana wouldn't destroy it.

Leaned up against the island, Tyler sticks their electronic devices into chargers and outlets and lays them face down. They turn on the TV to get their fix, dropping their jacket and beanie onto a chair as they pass by it. Still in Josh's sweatshirt, Tyler slouches, bare feet up on the coffee table, always mindful of the drawings plentiful on the surface. Remote in one hand, Tyler uses the other to play with their hair as they glide through channels.

Jon says, "It's not infected." It doesn't sound hopeful.

Josh says, "Tyler, can you look at my leg?"

But Tyler's looking at the news. A reporter is on the scene at the destruction of the tornados, just in the town Jon's house was on the outskirts of. The damage mimics that of the town a few miles away with only that of loss. It's obvious what natural disaster caused this. Tyler soaks in everything with wide eyes, remote pressing to their lips.

More footage of the twisters play, some captured by stormchasers. The credit in the corner says "Reel Bear Media". Tyler smiles at that, and then frowns at Josh's voice, asking them about his leg again.

"Sorry," Tyler whispers. They scoot over, dropping to the floor, next to Jon. Their head tilts as they get closer, hands and fingers hovering above Josh's skin.

"It's not inflamed," Jon says. "So… it's not infected."

"Sharp teeth." Tyler nods. "Spray it down and wrap it up. Just gotta wait for it to heal." They kiss Josh's knee and stand to check on their chicken.

Jon does as instructed. He doesn't say a thing, but Josh knows an apology is running rampant in his mind. Before he can open his mouth, Josh says, "Get on the couch with me."

Jon does, and Josh leans into his touch. Reacting positively, Jon pulls Josh's legs onto his lap. He rubs Josh's thighs.

Tyler returns with their food. They give a plate to Ana, the chicken patty cut into appropriate pieces. She digs right in, and Josh and Jon do, too. Tyler fills a bowl with water for Ana and grabs juice pouches from the fridge. Jon appreciates it. He slurps, and Tyler presses into his side and eats their sandwich with eyes fixated on the news. They are all watching now, drinking in the scenes of disaster. Along with tornados, the planet rocked with minor earthquakes. Because the theory of the earth punishing different areas with different disasters seems to be true, the west is dealing with the aftershocks. Down in Hawaii, volcanoes erupt. Tyler quickly shuts off the TV before they show footage of that.

In silence, not even bathed in as much light as they should be, Josh, Jon, and Tyler sit on the couch. Stomachs full with chicken and juice, hyped up on anxiety of what's to come, nobody moves. They stare frozen at the TV.

Tyler makes the first move—they speak, "I have condoms in the bedroom."

An assembly line, Tyler stands up and walks into the bedroom, and then Josh—albeit weakly—and then Jon. Ana is not part of this. Ana knows better than that. She has already watched them. Nothing is ever new.

Josh can't stand for long. The weight on his leg is unbearable. A titter and a totter, he falls into Tyler, and Tyler is ready, always ready to catch Josh. Gently, they guide Josh to the bed, let him lie on his back as they undress him. Jon shuts the door after entering the room. He pauses, eyes on Tyler and Josh. "Do I keep the door…?"

"Keep it shut," Tyler says, staring at Josh, staring at Josh's leg. Over and over, they chew at their lips until Josh tells them to stop. Nothing actually leaves Josh's mouth; it's quiet, slow—"Please," he's mouthing, drawing Tyler in close for a chance to hear his voice. But it's quiet, no sounds, and Tyler leans in anyway to kiss Josh, to touch Josh's neck. Jon is on the bed with them, touching Josh's chest, his breast. Thumb going in circles, fingertips dancing, Jon kisses along Josh's collarbone, down, lower, lower, lower, and lower still. For the second night in a row, Jon is between Josh's legs, lips wrapped around Josh's clit as he rolls the silver ball of his tongue ring through the wet curls on Josh's cunt.

"Don't move," Josh says, and Jon doesn't. Tyler does. Tyler pulls off their clothes and flings them to the floor. Condoms in the bedroom, they said, and the box rests in a bottom dresser drawer, along with Tyler's other  _items_. They don't need to use them tonight. Josh doesn't want to use them tonight. He wants Jon's tongue on his clit, Jon's fingers in his cunt, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of screaming and shaking the world to its core.

Buried in Josh's cunt, Jon shuts his eyes and allows Tyler to slide their fingers into the waistband of his pants. His hips shake, and Tyler bites whatever flesh they uncover. The curve of Jon's ass, the backs of his thighs, the span of skin is welcome to teeth and tongue. Tyler is adventurous tonight. Arching their eyebrows and crawling across the bed, Tyler helps Josh move toward the head of the bed, a pillow at the base of his neck, folded, and Jon follows like an animal in search of his prey. He kisses the inside of Josh's thighs and claims Josh's clit for himself. Josh slaps his hand over his mouth.

Behind Jon again, Tyler is adventurous, yet mindful. Josh can read the apprehension in those eyes of theirs. "Yes," Josh says, and it's a little broken. Jon thinks it's all him; he flicks his tongue up and over Josh's clit again—and again. Josh shivers. Josh shakes. Josh watches Tyler.

Tyler places their hands on Jon's hips. An innocent enough gesture, Jon doesn't seem like he's repulsed. If anything, he's eager for Tyler's hands to explore more of his body. Josh can see it in the way his breath intakes, the way he pauses and just rubs the dips of Josh's hipbones. Tyler glances at Josh, and Josh nods. Tyler nods back, to say they understood, and in one swift motion, they have Jon on his stomach, both palms on his ass, and spreading him with their thumbs. They waste no time in gathering saliva in their mouth and letting it drip from their lips to land on Jon's hole.

As expected, Jon flinches. He raises his head and looks over at Tyler, over his shoulder. "Dude," he says, and that's it. That's his consent. Jon wants it, and Tyler knows. Tyler knows, and they spit again, and they lean in, getting on their own stomach, feet hanging off the bed, as they press their tongue, flat, against Jon's hole. Josh raises onto his hands to watch, neck craning to see. Jon's groaning, his cheek to Josh's thigh. "Dude," he's saying. "Dude,  _dude_ , holy shit, dude."

Jon's fingers curl around the bed covers, his back arching slightly to dig his hips into the bed covers. Josh reaches forward to untie Jon's bun and move the hair tie onto his wrist. Jon takes Josh's hand, squeezing it. "Dude," he says.

Tyler is testing the waters, not being rough, not being eager. They don't fuck Jon with their tongue. They stroke, they pet—they're not being rough. Jon's loosening up, sliding his hand across the bed to grind his palm into Josh's clit. Josh needs it. He needs to get off. He watches Tyler pull their head away and lick the tip of their finger. He watches Tyler run their finger along the rim of Jon's hole, never daring to go inside. Like before, they stroke, they pet—they're not being rough.

"Dude," Jon says, "lemme fuck you."

Josh takes off Jon's shirt, and Tyler rips open a condom. Jon puts it on, Tyler rolls onto their back, Josh lies down next to them, and Jon says, "No, wait, get on top of Josh."

"What?"

Josh shoves his arms underneath Tyler, doing as Jon asks. Tyler straddles Josh's hips, chest to chest with Josh, and—"Oh," they sigh, Jon's cock sliding easily inside them. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

Tyler nods and rests their cheek on Josh's sternum. "Yeah."

Jon isn't rough. They're not supposed to be rough tonight. He's slow, delicate, and he kneads Tyler's ass in his hands, using it as a form of grip as he goes deeper. With each thrust, Tyler slides, their nipple rings catching on Josh's chest. Small scrapes and nothing more, Josh places his hands on Tyler's shoulders, fingers rubbing into the space between their shoulder blades. Tyler moans, from a number of things, and they drop their hips down to Josh's. With each thrust now, Tyler's clit slides along Josh's abdomen, wet, hard, and Josh raises his hips off the bed to prolong the union. Their cunts never directly touch, always one step ahead or behind, but they can get off on this. Josh doesn't need much, not when he has Tyler squirming and threatening to soak the bed sheets.

Naturally, Tyler comes first. Lips parting, it's a huff, a shudder, and nothing more. Jon groans, his knuckles white. "Fuck, you're so—"

"Hey," Josh says, "come over here. Take off that condom."

They all are up for anything. Trust and vulnerability, Jon does what Josh requests and doesn't regret, never will regret. With Tyler remained on top of him, Josh need only turn his head and open his mouth for Jon to slide his cock inside. Josh does what he can, and Jon does, too. He helps support Josh's head as Josh bobs it, taking more of the length down his throat. It's impossible to bury his nose in Jon's pubes at this angle, so Josh focuses on the tip, suckling, eyes wide and staring at Jon. When Jon comes, it's on Josh's lips. When Jon comes, it's all over Josh's face.

When Jon comes, Tyler nestles three fingers into Josh's cunt and rubs, rubs, rubs, until Josh is coming all over their hand.

Jon kisses Josh. Jon cleans Josh.

Tyler kisses Jon. Tyler laughs.

Josh laughs.

And Jon laughs, too.

*

Birds wake them.

Josh says, "Jon, can you fuck me?"

Tyler says, "Yes."

Jon says, "I need a condom."

Josh says, "Forget about it."

Tyler says, "Oh."

Jon says, "You can't get pregnant, right?"

Josh says, "I can't."

Tyler says, "I can."

Jon says, "Okay."

So, Jon fucks Josh, Tyler goes back to sleep, and Josh kisses Jon and leaves bruises the size of his fingers on Jon's neck.

*

Birds wake them again.

Josh is drowsy. Jon is smoking a cigarette. Tyler is gone.

"They rubbed some of that gel on you an hour or so ago. They're next door now," Jon says. "They said they wanted to see their…" A quirk of his eyebrows, Jon turns onto his side, elbow on his hip as he angles his cigarette from Josh's face. "Is Tyler—did Tyler—?"

"What are your intentions with us?" Josh doesn't skirt around. He's tired, overslept. "Are you going to hurt us?"

"What the fuck?"

"You're too good. You're too—"

"I'm not going to hurt you two, and I'm not going to hurt Tyler's…  _kid_." Jon's voice is harsh, but he isn't mad. Confused, Jon is confused. He turns to stub out his cigarette in an ashtray. Green, a little dingy, it looks handmade and used for something other than cigarettes.

"Sorry," Josh says.

"I came inside you," Jon says.

"I let everybody come inside me. You aren't special."

Jon doesn't reply. Josh gets out of bed. He dresses in old clothes, something of Tyler's. Along with a pair of leggings with skulls, Josh finally has possession of his "I Want to Believe" sweatshirt. He pulls it on and feels at home.

"Okay." Jon's sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees. "You don't have to tell me about it."

"About what?"

"The dream you had."

Josh shakes his head. "Didn't—"

"Like I said," Jon says, "you don't have to tell me."

Eyes burning, wet around the edges, Josh leaves the room. He hardly limps.

Stationed outside the door, Ana sits and does nothing else, Jon's fur coat beneath her, dragged closer to the sleepers' residence. A stranger to her surroundings, Ana wants to explore only when her owner is up to the task. Josh wants to kick-start that, so he locates Jon's bag and brings it into the bedroom for him. Clothes and other necessities, the bag is heavier now than it was when Josh carried it a day ago. "Here," he says, and then slides into a joke. "What d'ya got in there? Rocks?"

On the bed still, head in his hands, Jon takes the bag strap, the weight of it not catching him off guard for a second. Josh pointedly does not look at Jon's bicep. "Clothes," Jon says. Bashful now, he mumbles, "And maybe my laptop."

Josh thinks that's supposed to make him upset. It doesn't. He smiles, and Jon smiles with him. His shoulders drop for a moment, the bag connecting to the carpet without injury. Josh stands in front of Jon, touching the sides of his head, and slowly tilts his head back. Then and only then does Josh lean forward and kiss Jon's mouth. Sweet, the inside of Jon's cheek chewed to death, Jon abandons his bag in favor of holding Josh's hips, squeezing them as hard as he did hours before. Adrenaline pumping through Josh's veins, he sees no consequences when he says, "I tried to repress it, but I can't. I try to repress all the dreams I have about him, but I can't. I'm away from him, and he can't hurt me anymore, but my mind… it still thinks—"

"I used to box," Jon says, and presents his hands for Josh to inspect. "Recreationally, for exercise, whatever—I can kick his ass if he ever pops up in your life again. Does Tyler know about this guy?"

His voice isn't trustworthy. Josh nods as he rubs his thumbs over Jon's callused knuckles.

"You're not some damsel, Josh. Don't think I'm giving that impression when I say we will protect you. Repeat that to yourself every time before you go to bed. Make it your prayer. Your mind will thank you, and your body will, too. You're pale, shaking. Maybe you're just hungry, or maybe you're still fighting off the last traces of your dream. You don't need to wake like this. You never have to wake like this."

"I need a distraction," Josh says, taking Tyler's words and patching it for his own purposes. "You're more than that, but you—"

"I help." Jon pats Josh's thigh. "I'm all about that, man."

They kiss again with Jon's hands joining at the small of Josh's back. The kiss is sweeter now, Jon forgoing his tongue in favor of sucking on Josh's lips. Josh wants to tip forward, but there's a question burning at the darkest part of his brain that needs to see the light.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" Josh asks, and Jon's answer doesn't come. Someone is ripping open the front door of the apartment, slamming it shut, and racing through the hallways. Jon dives to the floor, scrambling for the bag and a change of clothes, and Josh braces himself against the wall, ready to trip anyone who dares enter. The absence of Ana's bark jolts Josh into assuming it's Tyler, and at Tyler barging into the room, Josh is proven correct.

"Okay," Tyler says, as their greeting. "Good, you're up. I need Jon to—where—okay, getting dressed. Jon, I need you to stay in here with Ana for a little bit."

"May I ask why?" Jon asks, now wearing pants. Ana walks into the room, nose to the ground, the arm of Jon's coat kept in their teeth.

"I didn't want to—"

"Totally understand." Jon looks for a shirt.

Tyler blinks. They shake their head. "Joy is a handful. I only just—"

"You told her on the phone we made new friends." Josh frowns. "Why can't she meet them?"

"I wanted to talk to her about it first. In case  _that thing_  we talked about is true."

Jon has selective hearing. He's on his knees, scratching Ana's chest and shoulders, cooing.

Josh says, "Okay."

The front door opens again. It doesn't slam. "Mommy!" Joy calls. "Where the hell did you go?"

"Brendon has a dirty mouth," Tyler says, tugging on Josh's hand and stepping from the room. "Here I am!" they exclaim, shoving Josh in front of them as they shut the bedroom door. "And here's Josh!"

"Josh!" Joy runs toward him and hugs his hips, face burrowing into his stomach. Her hair is damp and falling into loose curls. Josh sets his hand on the back of her head, holding her close, his fingers in her dark strands.

"Hey."

"Mommy said you got hurt, but you don't look hurt."

"I fell," Josh says, "and hurt my leg." Not a complete lie, he looks at Tyler as he tells Joy this. Tyler only looks slightly guilty. "I'm getting better now," he adds. "My leg doesn't hurt too bad."

"Good," Joy says. "I don't know if you'll want to be part robot like me."

Tyler takes Joy's hand and pulls her from Josh. "Da—um, Josh hasn't had breakfast yet. He needs to eat something."

Josh stares at Tyler.

Tyler stares at Joy. "Do you think you could bring a plate of pancakes over here for him?"

"If Brendon didn't eat them all."

"I made a lot. There's plenty left."

As Joy leaves to go into the apartment next door, Tyler covers their face with their hands and sighs, groans, everything. Josh touches Tyler's arms, using them as a leash to pull Tyler into the living room. "What have you told her?"

Tyler changes the topic. "She wrote a story when we were gone—about me dying and a dog coming in to eat my remains."

"Oh."

"Guess how she described the dog."

"I don't need to do that."

Tyler chews on their nails. "Something happened."

"We'll find out soon enough."

Josh can smell the pancakes before he sees them. His stomach growls, and he finds himself walking the rest of the way to close the gap between him and the plate of food in Joy's hands. She's startled at this, her eyes narrowing into glares as she keeps Josh from swiping the food from her. "No," she says. "You have to sit down."

"But—"

Joy stares at him, and Josh, in defeat, slumps into the couch. Only then does Joy pass over the plate, full with fluffy pancakes and drizzled with just the right amount of syrup. She gives Josh a fork, small, for a child, but he doesn't mind it. He's starving, and is reminded of the times he would sneak in convenience stores and stuff candy in his pockets—before the world ended and even now. He sat in that bakery and stuck old sweets into his mouth and made himself bloated and sick. If Tyler were not there to place their hand on Josh's thigh to remind him to  _slow down_ , the same results would reach fruition here. Tyler doesn't want him sick. They have business to do here. They have a man and his dog in their bedroom.

"Hey, Joy," Tyler says, and Joy immediately registers something is amiss. She's on the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce to the best of her ability and going through the drawings on the coffee table. Glancing at Josh, and then at Tyler, she places down one of Josh's aliens and steers her attention fully onto Tyler. She even clasps her hands together and lets them drop into her lap. She doesn't talk. She just stares.

And Tyler stares at her.

And Josh eats his pancakes.

"Joy," Tyler tries again, trying to be stern, but also trying to be cool, soft, open. Frightening Joy would be the last thing Tyler would want to do. Withdrawing, tears in the eyes, all would be seen as bad reactions, and who knows if that would mean Jon and Ana would be forced to stay in the bedroom until she calmed. Josh hopes Tyler is gentle, is kind, is considerate. Josh doesn't think Tyler is going to grill her or cause her any harm, but it might be unintentional. Hurting someone unintentionally is one of the worst feelings in the world.

Tyler says, "Joy, I'm going to need you to be completely honest with me."

"Oh, no," she says, defiant already.

Tyler, composed, says, "I have my own suspicions, but I would… prefer if you were to tell me yourself. Do you understand why I would prefer that?"

Joy shrugs.

"Joy, you're a smart girl."

"Thanks."

"So, tell me—why would I—?"

"Just ask me, and I'll tell you." Joy presses her elbows onto the coffee table, leaning forward. "Okay? I'll tell you the truth, if that's what you want."

Josh licks syrup off his fork.

Tyler slides their palms together, fingertips to fingertips. The pressure they apply is even and supposed to curb anxiety. "The dog in your dreams… Joy… did you watch your parents…?" Unable to bring themself to even say it, Tyler tries not to shake, but they shake. They cover their face, hands on their mouth, on their neck. "I know you left me that night. You forgot to take off your prosthetic. I… Baby, I just want to know if you're okay, if I need to find someone you can see and talk to or—"

"Who?" Joy crosses her arms over her chest. "Take me to someone. I'd like to see where you'd take me. Gonna pull an address out of your ass?"

"Joy—"

"I'm fine. Nothing I tell you will convince you of that, though. Because you're an adult, and adults always think they're right."

"You're just gonna have to fucking deal with that, Joy."

Joy falters. She looks down.

Josh looks at Tyler. Tyler isn't fazed, their hands on their neck, their hands hanging between their thighs. "So, tell me. I need to know. I'm worried about you, kid. If this is just some kind of ploy for me to get you a dog—"

"It is."

"It isn't." Tyler shakes their head. "It isn't, Joy."

"Yeah, okay."

"Talk to me," Tyler says, low, not a whisper. "I promise I won't get angry."

"Me, too," Josh butts in, placing their plate on a clear spot on the coffee table. He sets his fork on top of that and mimics Tyler's posture. Legs spread, elbows on knees, hands touching and shaking, Josh needs to be as much a part of this conversation as Tyler. "I won't get angry either. There's no reason to be angry over this."

Joy looks at the space between Josh and Tyler. "Right."

No one speaks. Tyler is patient.

Joy closes her eyes. "Okay. You're right. I snuck out. I saw a dog attack my parents. I saw them die."

Tyler blinks several times. They're not strong, but they need to be. "Joy—"

"I don't think they knew I was watching. I found them as the dog… I don't—"

"Joy, sweetie, I'm going to need you to—"

"Mommy, I don't want—"

"Joy"—Tyler falls to the floor, crawling toward Joy and gathering her into their arms—" _tell me_."

"I don't remember if the dog had a name, but I remember it being shouted. I ran away. I didn't fall at all. I was scared. I forgot to take off my leg."

"You smelled different," Tyler says into her hair.

Joy hasn't opened her eyes. She's trembling.

Tyler rubs her arms, her back. "I know you don't remember the dog's name, but do you remember who shouted it?"

"They were big. I think it was a man. He watched my parents die."

Josh looks at Tyler. Tyler is pale, yet a slow smile lines their face. They know, they know,  _they know_. They're right. They've been right this entire time. Josh stands from the couch and turns a corner, goes down the hallway, and listens to Tyler tell Joy everything is going to be okay. Sick to his stomach, Josh twists the bedroom's door knob and shoves it open.

On the floor, lying on his stomach with Ana next to him, Jon is fully dressed and looking over his shoulder at Josh. The texture of the carpet lines his cheek. He rubs it, but it doesn't go away. "Hey, man, can we leave now?"

Like the conversation never ended, Josh shuts the door behind him and says, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Not a verbal answer, and not as telling as Jon believes, he glances at Ana, perching atop his coat, and Josh glances at Ana, too. Jon knows what the hesitation means, and he doesn't do anything to prevent it or deny it or  _anything_. He scratches at his cheek. "Look, I—"

"Follow me."

Josh returns to the living room, not even attempting to check if either Jon or Ana has actually followed. They're trapped. They can't avoid this—and they don't. In the living room, Jon stands next to Josh and looks at Tyler and Joy. Joy's looking at Jon, and she doesn't talk. Nothing flashes across her face when she stares at Jon; it's all Jon. Jon closes his eyes, and Ana… Joy recognizes Ana, and Ana, like any animal, reacts poorly to a child screaming.

She barks, and Tyler is quick on their feet. Joy in their arms and disappearing behind the kitchen island, Josh takes over quieting the dog, but Jon's ahead of him. He's hugging Ana, talking to her, and Ana quivers, ears perked and eyes set on Joy. "She's scared," Jon says.

"No kidding," Tyler scoffs.

"I can explain. I—shit—this is—what are the fucking chances we—?" Jon points at the ground, and Ana goes down, head on her paws. Josh helps Jon from the floor, only a little guilty to find he doesn't want Jon to let go of his hand. "What do you want me to say?" Bare feet, Jon moves toward Joy and Tyler, showing his hands, showing he's harmless. "Tell me what you want me to say."

Joy raises a hand, smacking Tyler in the mouth before they can retort. She looks at Jon, and her eyes are shiny. No tears leak. "I remember you now. She was your dog. You called for her, and you ran away."

"Her name's Ana." Jon holds out his arms. "Can I hold you?"

"I don't need to be held," Joy says, ignoring her current position in Tyler's arms. "I don't know you."

"Who were they?" Jon gestures behind him, at Ana. "They were beaten up, stabbed to hell. They jumped me, wanted my jacket, wanted my clothes. I was out exploring with Ana, and they jumped me, and Ana…" Jon bites his lip. "Who were they?"

"It doesn't matter. They weren't important."

Jon laughs, desperate. "It must matter. Why are we so fucking tense? If they didn't matter, why—?"

"Just trying to put things together," Tyler says, butting away Joy's hand, "like a… puzzle."

"I'm getting bad vibes from you, man. If you have a problem with me, tell me now. I just got here, and I might be a little attached, but I can pack up my shit and walk right out that door if you want me to do that. I'll go home. I'll—"

"Jon," Josh breaks in, skimming along Jon's shoulders with fingertips and palms. Josh pulls, and Jon bends in that direction. There's fire in Jon's eyes, passion, a surge of energy. "Not to be that guy, but you don't have a home to go to right now."

"I'm, like, suffocating. Were they bad people? Please fucking tell me if they were bad people. They mugged me, but shit happens. Maybe they needed my clothes. Maybe—"

"Shut up," Joy says, groaning loudly. "Stop talking."

Jon blinks.

Joy continues, "They were bad people. They hit me. They yelled at me. They were mean, and I'm glad your dog got to them."

Jon smiles. It looks odd on his face. "Yeah?"

"I didn't mean to scream. I mean, I did.  _You have a dog_. I didn't mean to make her bark. I was excited." Joy looks down, squirming from Tyler's arms. "I don't think you're a bad person. I don't think your dog is bad either. I drew some pictures of her, do you want to see?"

Almost a one-eighty difference, Jon seems taken aback by the sudden friendliness from the child in front of him. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree—like mother, like daughter. Tyler isn't surprised by Joy's change of attitude. If anything, they're relieved. Maybe they were terrified of Joy holding some kind of grudge, no matter her parents were absolute monsters. Joy wants to get to know Jon, though, and perhaps that's because Jon has nowhere else to go.

"Sure," Jon says. "I'd like to see them."

"I'm Joy," she says first, a proper introduction, complete with a handshake.

"Jon, and my dog is Ana. I already told you that."

"She's pretty."

Ana raises her head.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

A routine is hard to slide into right now, not because of the inclusion of two more additions to their household, but because of how static the atmosphere is. Tyler keeps behind the island, hands rubbing their arms, and they stare at Jon and Joy sitting on the floor. Joy shows Jon the drawings, not just the ones of Ana, but the others, as well. Jon is impressed. "I'm an artist, too, y'know. I could totally, like, draw whatever you want and animate it."

"No fucking way!"

Tyler whispers, "I feel like such a fool."

Josh hugs them, letting Tyler blink their tears into the side of his neck. "You're a parent," Josh reasons, "and a parent is allowed to be worried, especially when it comes to their child's mental health."

"I was just gonna… pick her up and drive her somewhere. Do you know how ridiculous that is?"

Quietly, Josh shushes Tyler, tracing circles into their back. "It wasn't ridiculous."

"I'm not even her legal guardian yet."

"In time."

"Do you know what's really cool?" Jon asks Joy, to which Joy says, "What?"

"You're part robot. That's so cool."

"Thanks." Joy smiles and slowly rubs her fingers through Ana's fur. "My mommy thinks that, too."

"Your mommy's very lucky to have a kid like you."

"They are. I'm such a catch."

*

True to Tyler's word, Josh scrapes the mud from Tyler's boots. He's on the couch as he does this, a plastic bag on his thighs to catch the mud pulled from the soles of the boots with a pocketknife Jon procured without being asked. He's next to Josh, Josh's legs strung across his lap, stretched out far enough to poke Tyler in the arm with his toes. Tyler ignores the poking and lets Jon rub Josh's ankles, too busy taking in whatever news they can get.

Joy is bonding with Ana, combing her fingers through Ana's stomach fur. Joy laughs at this. From the corner of his eye, Josh sees Tyler smile.

"I can do that," Jon says, pointing at the boots. "Lemme do that."

"We're under a severe thunderstorm warning," Tyler says.

Josh gives Jon the shoes, knife, and plastic bag. After resting the bag on the floor between his legs, Jon goes to work and is already farther than Josh could hope to get done in a span of an hour. Over Jon's bent spine, Josh makes eye contact with Tyler. Tyler doesn't look well.

"Hey," Josh says, pulling his legs from Jon's lap and swinging them around in order to stand. "I think we need to eat something."

Tyler closes their eyes.

Joy jumps up, eager to help. "Grilled cheese and soup."

Jon chuckles.

Josh lets Joy take his hand. "Do we have enough to feed all of us?"

Joy smiles. "Of course we do."

As they cook, Tyler curls into themself on the couch, and Brendon visits. There's a can of  _something_  wrapped in a cozy that he sips on before saying hello. Even then, his hello is a wave of his fingers. He doesn't want to speak, but he does anyway. Front door unlocked for a chance of him passing by anyway, Brendon gestures toward the door and says, "You guys are good people."

Josh stares at him for a moment. He goes back to Joy.

Tyler, from the couch, immobile, says, "Do you and Sarah want to eat dinner with us? Gotta eat something warm in case the power goes out."

"You look like shit," Brendon says, "and we would love to eat something warm with you." Brendon notices Jon. Jon continues to scrape away the mud. "Who's he and…? Shit, you found the dog." Ana is by his feet, quiet, not bringing any attention to her large mass. At Brendon dropping to his knees, she begins to wag her tail. Brendon obliges with several pets.

"I'm Jon," Jon says, "and that's Ana."

"Brendon… You look familiar," Brendon says, taking a drink from the can. "Were you famous?"

"Just had a few thousand followers on Twitter."

"That could be it." Brendon shrugs.

Joy finds a bag of goldfish crackers and throws a few fish at Brendon. "Higher," Josh tells her, in her ear. "Aim for his eyes."

"I'm pretty sure you did something that was really fucking sweet."

Jon moves onto the other boot. "Like what?" He's enjoying this.

Tyler watches Joy and Josh.

"Did you… do… something… with music?"

"Sort of."

Brendon scratches at his ear. "Something like that, huh? Oh, shit, something with Disney?"

"Trying to."

"That's fucking awesome, man. D'ya think the world ending is gonna stop—who the hell keeps throwing goldfish at me?"

Josh and Joy spin, pink in the face, and stir the soup. Ana is a little vacuum. Tyler stands up and walks into the kitchen. They look at the stove, eyes half-lidded.

Jon says, "So, you live next door? Always have?"

"Like, since before the Earth decided to annihilate us, yeah."

"Are we going to leave again?" Tyler asks, tugging on the sleeves of their long-sleeve shirt.

"Why would we leave?"

Tyler doesn't answer that. "I want to stay. I don't want to—"

"What has you thinking like this, Tyler?" Josh studies them, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. "Did you read something online?"

Jon says, "I was trying to stay in one place for as long as possible, but eventually my place got tore to pieces."

"Yeah, we moved about a bit. Nothing too permanent. You always return home." Brendon swats at his ears, phantom throws. Joy is peeling off the plastic on a piece of cheese.

"I'm scared, that's it. Terrified. Promise you won't leave me." Tyler is about to cry. They press their lips together until they hold no color. "Please, promise me."

"I promise," Josh says.

"I promise, too," Joy says.

Tyler pats her head, pulling hair behind her ears. "You don't have to promise me that, girlie."

"Why not? I don't want to leave you. Why can't I promise that?"

"Because you don't know what might happen."

"But Josh—"

"This is something adults say to each other when they're stupidly in love," Tyler explains.

Joy slowly nods. "I think I get it."

"I'll get Sarah," Brendon says, "and then we can fucking feast like kings."

*

The topic of conversation for dinner is, naturally, Jon and Ana. Sarah is particularly interested in Ana. One of the closest people here to Joy, Sarah knows the extent those nightmares have shaken the child. She's looking out for Joy.

"How long have you had her?"

Jon takes a while to answer. He's thinking, staring at Ana as she stares at him, a touch of soup on her chin after Jon allowed her a taste. Slowly, he narrows his eyes and says, "It's been a few years. She's gotta be at least six years old."

"I think that's forty-seven in dog years," Joy says.

"This kid's gonna go places," Brendon says.

From their corner on the couch, cradling their bowl of soup to their chest, Tyler smiles weakly and continues scrolling through their phone.

Josh is next to Tyler, his own dinner already eaten. He watches them scroll and reads along. The text is small from this distance, and Tyler's thumb is fast, so Josh is unable to register a lot. He ends up reaching out and gently easing Tyler's phone from their hand. Tyler gives it up. They lift their spoon and eat with no hesitation. No one notices. Josh sticks Tyler's phone under his thigh.

Brendon says, "It's supposed to rain later."

Jon says, "Yeah, we're under a severe thunderstorm warning. That's a little scary."

"We'll be okay." Brendon looks at Tyler. "Tyler, right? Everything is going to be okay."

Tyler smiles, but as soon as Brendon turns his head, their face falls. Sarah sees. She touches Brendon's arm. "We should go. It's getting late."

"Wait, I gotta say something." Brendon points at Josh, and he points at Tyler. "I just wanna say… I'm not fucking mad at you guys for leaving. I'm just glad you came back."

Joy shows them out, giving both Sarah and Brendon hugs as tight as they will let her. Her face is glowing, her eyes bright.

Tyler gathers the dishes and places them in the kitchen. They stand in front of the sink, not moving.

Jon stares at them.

Josh nudges Jon. "After this storm passes, we can check out your house. If it's not too dangerous, we could even bring Joy."

Joy gasps. "Are you fucking serious?"

Josh opens his mouth, and Joy sighs and mumbles, "Language, I know."

"I am being serious. You deserve to know what's out there. I think Tyler would agree."

"I do." When Tyler walks, they drag their feet. "We might not be able to go out like this, like a… a  _family_  again…"

They're quiet. Joy finds the TV remote and changes the channel to cartoons.

Jon nudges Josh. "I need to talk to you two."

"Bedroom?" Josh suggests.

Tyler turns to Joy. "Stay right here, girlie. Keep Ana company."

Joy hums.

Tyler goes down the hallway, Jon following, and then Josh. It doesn't hurt to walk anymore.

"What did you want to talk about?" Josh asks, making sure Joy hadn't tiptoed her way after them. Springs in the mattress groaning, Tyler sinks down onto the bed, eyes on Jon.

Jon bites at his cheek. "What… what is  _this_?"

It's not quite the elephant in the room, but in a few days, in a week, it might be. Tackling it before it develops, Tyler answers honestly, "I don't know what this is. It could be something. We could be together. The sex is great, but it doesn't have to just be a sex thing. Josh… Josh already told me he'd help me with Joy. If you want to help… then that'd be… cool."

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you about her." Jon crosses his arms over his chest. "She's not your real daughter."

"She's my daughter," Tyler presses. "Blood doesn't matter. Blood will never matter more to me. I could care less about my damn family suffering out there. My real family, they're  _here_. Blood doesn't matter."

Josh called his mom every day since the smoke appeared. Dial tone and eventually silence, Josh sees their Facebook posts, but even that turned to dust. He closes his eyes.

"I told you my heart was big enough." Jon shrugs. "I'm not picky when it comes to how many partners I have. That wasn't just a sex thing. I mean it."

"You have to be honest with us."

"What do you want to know?"

"You had a kid, didn't you?"

Now is not the time for hesitation. "Yes, I did. A little boy. Died in a car accident a month or so ago."

Tyler drops their head in their hands.

Josh pushes from the door. He hugs Jon, and Jon lets him. "I'm okay," he says, but he's crying. Josh squeezes, holding him tightly, and Jon curls his fingers into the small of Josh's back and clings, clings, clings.

"The mother," Tyler says, voice thick. They're holding in their tears. "What happened to her?"

"He," Jon corrects, quietly. "He died, too."

Three people can hug at a time. One arm around Tyler's shoulders and the other around Josh's, Jon is the leader of the huddle. They shake, and they cry, and even their crying can't hide the sound of thunder rumbling. Deep and hungry, it forces Tyler to flee from the room and check on Joy. Left to themselves, Josh kisses Jon's cheek and says, "You will be okay."

Jon wipes his eyes. "I know."

"That toy, in your coat pocket… was that his?"

"Yeah." Jon furrows his brow. "Do you think…? Joy, like, I've noticed she doesn't have a lot of  _things_  here."

"Gotta wash it. It's a little dirty."

"Just a little."

More thunder, and Josh takes this as his cue to leave the room. The next time, Jon leaves. It's as Josh is walking down the hallway. The thunder is loud, and it does not wait.

Joy is fine. If anything, Tyler is the one needing comfort. So, Josh says, "Tyler, go to bed. I can sit here with Joy."

"I'll be with you," Jon says. "Let's go to bed, Tyler. Come on."

The thunder is loud, and Tyler does not wait. They lace their fingers with Jon's, filling the gaps in the dams and the fissures. Into the bedroom they go, Josh taking the cushion Tyler claimed. Tyler's phone is still here. Josh picks it up and turns it in his hands. It's burning up.

Ana sets her head on her paws.

Joy turns to Josh. "Jon can grow a better beard than you."

Josh pulls Joy into his side. "Shut up."


	9. Soon

The first raindrops make themselves known at six in the morning. Josh is on the couch when he hears it, lights off, the TV churning out a show that makes little to no sense even if he were fully awake. It sounds as if the glass splinters at every droplet. Josh watches the lightning cut through the curtains and the thunder rattle the windows. He doesn't move.

By himself, television remote on the floor by the couch, he put Joy to bed hours ago. She nodded off not long after Tyler and Jon retreated into the bedroom. Ana in the corner, on Jon's coat, Tyler lightly snoring, Jon was the only one awake then. Laptop open, screen dimmed, Jon smiled at Josh, and Josh almost believed everything was normal. For a moment, he forgot about the thunder, his ex, and how he hasn't heard from his estranged family. For a moment, Josh was a man in a polyamorous relationship. He was a father. He was happy.

At a steady pace, the rain continues to tap the windows. Josh rubs at his eyes.

Despite how long it's been since Joy fell asleep, Josh thinks it's Jon coming down the hallway. Somehow he thinks Jon would be up even now, still on his computer, maybe ducking to the toilet or the kitchen for a snack. If Josh closes his eyes tight enough, he can pretend everything is indeed normal.

"Hey, are you awake?"

Eyes closed, stretched out on the sofa, one leg bent with knee to the ceiling, an arm behind a head, the posture is relaxation itself, clear to everybody that this is an individual who is deep in sleep and wishes to not be disturbed. But this is Josh, and this is  _Tyler_ , and ever since they met in that pharmacy, Tyler knows Josh.

Josh opens his eyes and tilts his head. "Yeah," he says, a little sheepish.

Tyler stands before him, boxer briefs, a big t-shirt. No bruises on their arms, their face, and just that simple charm bracelet on their wrist, they look as comfortable as anyone who wakes from slumber. Josh can't tell if the bedhead is evidence of nightmares plaguing that head of theirs, but he doesn't act as though Tyler is necessarily okay. Paranoid that evening, desperation in their voice, they were not themself. Josh worries their behavior has even carried on to right now, no matter they slept. Sleeping is supposed to be healing.

Josh says, "You wanna talk?"

"Sure." Tyler climbs in the space by Josh's legs, Josh sitting up and slouching against the arm of the couch. The rain picks up. Tyler seems not to hear it. "I'm preparing myself for the worst," they say. "With Joy, Jon, you… I don't want to think about a future where we're together because I know that's not going to happen."

"Tyler—"

"Don't try to convince me otherwise." Tyler hugs a leg, their chin resting on their knee. "I've already made up my mind. None of this is going to end. If it does, it's still not going to end—at least not in the way I want it to end."

"How do you want it to end?"

"I just want us to be together," Tyler whispers, wiping their eyes. "It's all I want, Josh. I don't think it's too much to ask for, really. I want us all together." They gesture widely, like they're gathering a large group of people into a hug. Their bracelet chimes softly. "I want to be happy. I want us to have a life together. Mommy, Daddy, Papa, our daughter, our fucking dog—why can't we have that?"

Josh takes Tyler's wrist, their hand, fingers curling to lace and squeeze. "We can have that. We're allowed to have that."

"Just because we can have something or we're allowed to have something doesn't mean we're going to get it, Josh. The world doesn't work like that."

"Maybe this time it will."

Due to either the time or their mental state, Tyler doesn't argue. Bags under their eyes, the hand in Josh's hand is weak. No grip, just there, Tyler looks toward the window to watch lightning flash. Josh blinks. Tyler doesn't.

"Jon likes to cuddle," they say, a sad sort of smile on their face.

"He gives off that kind of vibe." Then, "So… he's 'Papa'?"

Still smiling, Tyler shrugs. "What else?"

The conversation takes a different turn. "They're covering it up on the news." Tyler scoots closer, their toes curled to help move them on top of Josh. Josh helps them, too, settling onto his back once more with Tyler on his hips. He waits for Tyler to continue.

"I read this online." Tyler slides until they're lying on Josh, chest to chest, their legs between Josh's legs. "Forgot where exactly. I find myself on strange websites all the time lately. But… the fires have started again. There was a break, and that's when we managed to explore that town, you know? As soon as those tornados started, the fires began. And then, the tornados stopped, and the fires stopped. Even now, with this rain, do you think the news is gonna cover it? These are all repeats. They won't say anything until something new happens—in  _America_." Tyler's eyes brighten. "You know that, right? You've noticed that. The news here doesn't give a shit about what's happening on the other side of the world. They barely give a shit about Hawaii. Do you know what I think? Yes, the fires started it, and then we got rain, but I don't think the fires stopped when the rain started. It all keeps piling on and on, and we'll have nowhere to run. We're going to keep running, and we're going to bump into fire, rain, twisters—there's going to be snow, hail, earthquakes—and we'll never be able to escape from it."

More than just a simple window shake, the thunder shakes the whole apartment complex now.

Josh stares at Tyler. "I believe you."

"You shouldn't. I don't want to believe me."

A slow tilt of his head, Josh shuts his eyes and turns his face toward the ceiling. No hesitation present, Tyler's fingertips roam along the side of Josh's neck. Up and down, slow enough to appear as a breeze, Tyler inches closer to replace their fingers with their nose, their mouth. Parting their lips, they breathe. Josh wraps his arms around Tyler's waist. He doesn't want to talk, but he does. "Should I contact my family? They've been on Facebook. My mom… She never picked up the phone when I tried to call. I don't know if I should look into something like that."

"Maybe your siblings—a brother you were close to, a sister. I've texted my brother. His name's Zack."

"My brother's name is Jordan." Josh's hand is flat against Tyler's shoulder, curving down, slow, a massage. "Did your brother ever reply?"

"Yeah. He said everybody was okay." Each word vibrates against Josh's neck. If Tyler whispers, their lips drag along the skin, leaving behind faint pink scrapes from the chapped bits of their own lips. Tyler swipes their tongue over their mouth, and it helps a little.

Josh pulls Tyler in closer, using Tyler as a safety guard and a blanket. "I'll text someone… later."

"Don't feel obligated," Tyler mumbles, "okay?"

"Okay." Josh lowers his voice now, matching Tyler. "Can we kiss for a bit? I… I need—"

Justification not needed for them, Tyler braces their elbows on each side of Josh's arms, then closer, by Josh's torso, more comfortable here. Tyler places their hands on Josh's shoulders and leans in, Josh fluttering his eyelids closed at the press of lips. Warm, damp, Josh runs his fingers into Tyler's hair, holding the back of their head as Tyler shuffles closer, as Tyler opens their mouth, as Tyler tastes Josh's tongue.

It's all Josh needs right now, to quell his stomach, to reassure him that everything is going to be okay. And after Tyler begins to hum gently along the seam of his lips, Josh realizes Tyler needs the reassurance, too.

Down the hallway, a careful hum to match Tyler's own, Jon is a mummy. Thinly veiled in a soft, white long tee, Jon leaves the bedroom on tiptoes, trying to be quiet. The floor creaks, and he's humming a soothing, hushed lullaby. Anybody else, Josh and Tyler would separate and act as though they hadn't been up to no good. But this is Jon. This is Jon. They all crowded into that bedroom and agreed, succumbed, loved.

Jon wanders into the living room. Voice thick with sleep, he says, "I wan' in on this," and drops to the floor by the sofa. His head drops next, to the cushion by Josh's shoulder, where Tyler is still holding onto it. They part from Josh, their thumb rubbing circles, and stares at Jon.

"You okay?" they ask.

Jon doesn't reply.

Josh slides in with an inquiry of his own. "Have you been in contact with your family since… everything turned to shit?"

"Not really," Jon admits. "I tried calling my mom, but she never picked up. Saw she was on Facebook, though… so…"

"Yeah."

Tyler sets their head on Josh's chest, watching with Josh, watching Jon straighten up and lean in, kiss Josh, nibble on Josh's bottom lip. Jon breaks it off. Jon looks away. He says, "I haven't seen her on Facebook recently. We're from Brooklyn. New York. And… you know…"

"The fires," Tyler supplies.

Jon nods. He looks at his hands.

Using their elbows to move forward, Tyler cranes their neck and bumps their pursed lips to Jon's cheek.

A sigh slips from Jon's mouth. He rubs his eyes. "Had a bad dream. I couldn't stay in bed. Scared I'd wake up Joy with how much I was tossing and turning." Jon hugs his thighs, letting his toes spread along the carpet. "I thought the nightmares would have stopped when I saw Joy. I don't… I'm not typically one who gets shaken up by my dreams, but this fucking environment, it makes me lose my mind. Her parents… Ana…" Jon shakes his head. "It's probably guilt, even though they were bad people. They were… Goddamnit, I was  _walking_ , and they  _attacked_  me, and they were bleeding. And Ana… Ana…" Jon hides his face.

Tyler's looking at Jon. Josh's looking at Tyler, not missing the way Tyler has trouble swallowing or the way their chin quivers. "Jon," they say, and they move closer again, using their elbows again, but they kiss Jon's shoulder instead of his cheek. A shoulder is comfort. A shoulder is safe. Jon is still covering his face with both hands.

"Are there things that have happened to you," Jon says, "since this started that have haunted your dreams?"

"Yes," Josh and Tyler say, at the same time.

Jon stares at Josh first, and then Tyler. "Can you tell me about them?"

"They keep hitting her, and she doesn't stop screaming," Tyler says.

"The knife is cold against my neck, and his voice is like honey," Josh says.

"'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' she kept saying. 'I'll keep up. I'll keep up,'" Tyler says.

"'If the world's going to end,' he told me, 'then we're going out together,'" Josh says.

"If I die," Jon says, and corrects himself—"When I die, can you make sure my body is sent to Brooklyn?"

"You're not going to die," Tyler says, and grabs the front of Josh's shirt. "And neither are you. Nobody's going to die. Not on my watch. Got it?" They look between Jon and Josh, and they take one of Jon's hands in their own, touching their partners, both of them. Jon in one hand and Josh in the other, sitting on Josh's hips, Tyler has tears on their face. "Do you two understand me? No more talking about death  _or leaving_."

Jon's eyes are wide, his hand limp in Tyler's. Josh hears the raindrops come down like hail.

"It's just a little rain," Tyler says, white-knuckled. "If we run, it doesn't matter where we go. If we run, we're going to see fire, we're going to see wind and smoke and more rain and snow, even, because it doesn't matter where we go. If we run, we die."

"It's going to stop," Jon says, standing, pulling Tyler with him since Tyler refuses to let go of Jon's hand. Josh has to sit up, too; Tyler's fingers are vice grips.

"It's going to be okay," Tyler parrots, "if we all  _stay here_  and  _don't leave_."

This is when Brendon decides to make himself known. This is when Brendon, completely sober and completely rational, knocks on the door to their apartment and goes, "We need to fucking leave."

This is when Brendon squeals, and this is when cracks in the ceiling form and rainwater slides under the front door. This is when Tyler learns to loosen their grip. This is when Jon goes, "We need to leave, Tyler. We can't stay here."

There's thunder now, and there's Brendon knocking on the front door again. "Dude," he's saying, followed by the side of his fist banging into the door. "Hurry, come on, there's a pause in the rain. We need to get out of here before—"

But Tyler doesn't want to leave. Tyler says, "If we're flooded in, we're trapped; we're on the third floor, Brendon, and we don't have a boat."

"Tyler," Brendon says, "don't be a fucking idiot. Open the damn door."

Ana's up now, a crutch for Joy as she wobbles into the living room, as she fastens on her prosthetic. "What's—?"

Josh is her father. He lifts her, moving her out from under another crack in the ceiling. A piece of plaster falls. Ana sniffs it. "I think we're leaving," Josh tells Joy, his hands running along her arms. "Did you hear the rain? We think—"

"No," Joy says. "I get it. Do you want me to get my stuff?"

And Tyler screams, "No! No one is leaving. We're staying here." They still haven't opened the door. Brendon's still knocking, still calling Tyler an idiot.

More thunder, it's dark outside, the storm clouds thick, the storm clouds stagnant. Shaking, in the center of the room, dressed in white, Jon peels the top layer of skin from his bottom lip and combs his fingers through his hair. Pushed from his forehead with oil, Jon combs his hair and whispers, pleads to Tyler. "Tyler," he says. "I know it's a long shot, but…  _dude_ , you must know we can't stay here forever."

Perhaps it's because Jon sounds broken, or maybe it's because Brendon's finally gotten the door open with a nudge of his shoulder. Wild eyes, his hair greasy, as well, Brendon looks at Tyler, at Jon, Josh, Ana, Joy. He says, "We're wasting precious time."

Tyler crouches, drifting to their knees, and claps their hands together.

Brendon rolls his eyes, says, "I'm giving you guys ten minutes. Meet us out front."

"We'll be there," Jon says, one of them now.

"I'll get my stuff." Joy leaves when Brendon leaves, drawing Ana after her by a wave and a click of the tongue. A parting glance to Jon, followed by a parting nod from Jon, Josh heads into the bedroom with Joy and Ana, picking up bags and packing for him, Tyler, Jon. In her corner, Ana pulls Jon's coat into her mouth, understanding the scenario better than Tyler.

Joy never unpacked her small bag. Big black eyes, the white of it browner than anything, the panda pack looks bloated with Joy's clothes stuffed inside. The arms hang loosely, the straps worn and stretching across her coat. Josh helps Joy ease her prosthetic into a rain boot. "I don't know why my mom's acting like that. I knew we had to leave someday."

Josh fixes Jon's bag for him, making sure his laptop is secure and kept dry. "Maybe they didn't know someday would be so soon."

"Maybe." Joy shrugs, the panda's legs kicking out. "I hope they don't think I'm going to bring my crayons or drawings or whatever. Too much space. They weren't that good anyway."

"Don't say that." Josh frowns, and Joy frowns, too.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "It's just how I feel. Besides, I can do them over."

"That's not the point." Josh pulls on layers. First chance they get, he and Tyler need to apply Androgel. If they skip a dose, it's fine. It's just one dose. It's just one dose.

"Do you want me to get your phones and all that?"

"Please."

Ana keeps Josh company as he walks around the bedroom, returning what was once contained in the pouches not that long ago. Jon just got here, and now, Tyler and Josh are on the run again. It'll be better this time. Joy is here, and Brendon and Sarah. The destination this time is unknown to Josh, but being kept in the dark has never bothered him. He can pretend he knows where they're going. He pretends they're going to California, to a beach, where everything is pristine and hasn't been touched by Mother Nature and her knotted fingers.

He expects Joy to be the one to enter the bedroom, electronics and cords in toll, but it's Tyler. Tyler, with red cheeks and wet eyes, they pace the room, inspect the bags, and say quietly, guilty, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"You don't—"

"I do." Tyler piles on the layers, too. They go about it slower than Josh, as if they're savoring the push and pull of fabric over their skin. "I was about to drag you all down with me. That wasn't fair. I'm a hypocrite. We need to go."

Lightning now, Josh stands and wraps Tyler up in his arms. "I didn't promise I wouldn't leave. I promised I wouldn't leave you."

Into the bedroom, one after the other, Joy and Jon finish packing. A stack of papers in his fist, Jon makes eye contact with Josh before retrieving his laptop from inside the bag, hidden behind towels, and opening it. He places Joy's drawings atop the keyboard, closes the lid, and replaces the device in his bag. Joy hands him the chargers for their phones, the only grownup in the room not busy coddling, comforting, commiserating.

"Okay," Tyler says, shaking their head of the tears and bad thoughts. They look from Josh to Ana, everybody looking back. "Jon, you're gonna need more layers than that."

Jon doesn't fight. He pulls out a second t-shirt, a long-sleeve shirt, and a pair of sweats to wear over his jeans. They don't know what they're going into, but they need to prepare. Under his clothes, Josh doesn't wear his binder. He won't make that mistake again.

To top off his outfit, Jon slams a baseball cap on his head. "Okay," he says, buttoning his big coat, fixing Ana's collar, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm ready."

"Me, too," Joy says, zipping her bag and passing around everybody's respective cell phone, fully charged. "I don't think it's raining anymore." She stands next to Ana, her hand finding its way into Jon's, her fingers squeezing his. The move is one that makes Josh immediately turn to Tyler. It's a gut reaction. Josh doesn't know what he expects to see across Tyler's face—jealousy, maybe—but Tyler is smiling as they stare at Joy, double check their supplies, and then tug on their red backpack.

"Let's go, then," they say, the ceiling above them cracking like glass.

Their other neighbors had the same idea. On their way outside, two cars leave the parking lot of the apartment complex, speeding away, no doubt going to hydroplane around corners. It's dark outside, the sun cast behind rain and, as Josh suspected, hail. From Brendon's departure to their arrival to the car, the rain has begun to pick up. Already getting the right idea, whether from remembering Joy's leg or just from paternal instincts, Jon picks Joy from the asphalt and lets her come to a rest on his hip. It's easy for him, like it's easy for Tyler. She doesn't protest. She understands the situation.

"We need a bigger car," Sarah says, taking charge. She doesn't ask permission or opinion. She goes toward a car, an SUV, and Brendon watches her, not saying a thing. Tyler watches her, too, looking small standing there with their hands in their pockets and the hood of Josh's sweatshirt over their head. The article of clothing is as much Tyler's as it is Josh's. It hasn't been washed. Josh feels gross, having to go days and even weeks on end without a washing machine. He could have washed his clothes at Tyler's apartment, but now the ceiling is cracked, and there's hail coming down, and Josh has no idea where they're going.

No one talks. No one asks how Sarah gets the car running. She's tossing her bag into the floor of the passenger seat, coming around, stomping around in her boots, getting into the driver's side. This is the Sarah Tyler was faced with at the start of, what some would undoubtedly call, the apocalypse, the end of the world. Josh ran when this erupted. He didn't want to think about the end of days, but here they are again—running from another disaster zone and potentially running into another if Tyler is correct in their reading.

The hail is hard and, paired with the rain, practically piling around their shoes. An inch, two inches, three, they wade in the rain and climb into the car. Ana first, she goes in the back, and then Jon places Joy in the second row of seats before joining Ana in the back. Josh slides in, and Tyler, and Brendon plants himself into the passenger's seat. Brendon, the audacity he has, Brendon clicks in his seatbelt and leans forward, elbows on knees, and turns on the radio.

Sarah gives him a pointed look, but Brendon's not paying attention. He's found music by some supernatural means. "Would a radio station be a safe place to go?" he wonders aloud.

Tyler makes Josh switch seats with them. They sit next to Joy, their arm around her shoulders. She stares out the window, absently moving the arms of her panda pack, now on her lap. Josh looks out his window. The rain is coming down harder, making it almost hard to see.

Ana whimpers. Jon shushes her, coos, and hums a little.

Brendon finds a top 40 playlist and leans back in his seat.

And Sarah turns on the headlights and inches out of the parking lot. No one says goodbye to her Beetle or Tyler's truck. Maybe they think they're going to return soon. Maybe they think their vehicles are going to stay there, untouched, with no one thinking to hotwire them to escape. Maybe they think they're doing some kind of favor to the tenants left inside, giving the couples and smaller families smaller cars. Their family is large, and so they need larger transportation. That's what Josh is telling himself.

Bent at the waist, hugging his waist, Josh's knees press into the backpack between them, and he shakes. Tyler touches his shoulder, just keeps their hand on Josh. An arm around Joy, a hand on Josh, Tyler is in close contact, and that's all Josh needs at the moment. Just a hand, all Josh needs is a hand rubbing circles into the layers on his torso to let him know that no matter what happens, even though he may never hear from his biological family again, everybody Josh needs is here, in this stolen SUV.

But it doesn't stop Josh from taking his phone from his pocket and shooting a text to Jordan, his brother, his only brother.  _Hope you're okay_ , he sends, and Tyler spreads their legs, their knee to Josh's knee.

Jon's leaned against Ana, eyes shut, twins.

Brendon's singing.

Sarah has both hands on the wheel, her posture perfect in order to keep a clear head, to know where she's going—wherever she's going.

Joy asks her, "Where are we going?"

The car swerves. Sarah stays composed. "There's a neighborhood," she says, "Brendon and I have been eyeing for some time now. There's a house, a cute house, a little house. Two stories, with a backyard. We're going there. We'll be there soon."

Joy smiles.

A vibration in his hand, Josh checks his phone and pops his thumbnail into his mouth. Jordan, Jordan says,  _Everybody's okay. Are you okay?_

"It sounds like a good place, Sarah," Tyler says. "When were you gonna tell me you two were moving?" It's a joke. It lightens the mood.

"The day we moved out!"

Josh presses his cheek to Tyler's shoulder.  _Yeah, I'm okay._

*

The rain is more hail now, coming down from the dark clouds overhead. Dents form in the hood of the car that isn't theirs, but to prevent further damage, the next time an underpass comes into what limited view they all have, Sarah pulls underneath it and stops the car. Under here, they're safe for a moment.

Again, no one talks.

The radio spits out static. Brendon shoves it off with the palm of his hand.

His sleeping buddy now his cuddle buddy, Jon's head stacks atop Ana's. They're both awake, both alternating looking out the different windows. Seatbelt off, Josh twists around in his seat, side to the back of the fake, stiff leather seats. Chin on a headrest, Josh is face to face with Jon, who has retired Ana to take over another headrest, Joy's headrest. She's slumped, though, and sleeping, so she doesn't notice Jon. Jon, whose hat is pulled low on his head, whose eyes are dark with dark circles, whose lips are bitten and worn, smiles at Josh. Josh sets his hand in the space between them, and Jon places his hand on top of Josh's.

Tyler pats Jon's and Josh's hands and pulls their legs into the seat. They curl into Joy.

Up front, Sarah looks ahead, and Brendon says, "It's not going to stop. Just keep driving."

"No," Sarah says. "We might damage the car."

"It's not even our car!"

Joy opens her eyes. Ana perks her ears.

"We're staying here, Brendon. Just for a few minutes."

"I'll fucking walk," Brendon says, and he shakes the door handle. "Do you have the child's lock on?"

"Just for a few minutes," Sarah repeats. She wouldn't let Brendon walk before, and she won't let him walk now.

Joy digs inside her backpack. Jon curls his fingers.

"Okay. Okay, we can wait." Brendon drags out his phone and taps onto the weather app. It's quiet for a moment, while the app loads the latest update.

Tyler says, "Don't trust it."

"It says it's supposed to be sunny!" Brendon slams his phone on the dashboard.

"Brendon," Sarah warns.

"I'm getting tired of all this shit." Brendon shakes the door handle again, something to do. "I want it all to stop. I want this to fucking end. I don't want—"

"Brendon—"

"Open this door, Sarah," Brendon says, gazing somewhere past the windshield and the hail. "Open this door, and let me die."

Joy's up, wanting to go back to sleep and unable to do so. She's up and clicking off her seatbelt and lunging at Brendon in the front. She's up, and she's screaming, and Brendon's screaming, and Tyler's screaming and tugging Joy onto their lap, Joy's legs kicking, her backpack on the floor, the hood of her coat over her head. She has a pair of scissors in her fist, bringing them down, down, down, but Brendon is quick and overpowers her. He has her wrists and pushes them aside, grunting, groaning. Fidgeting and attempting to now pull at Brendon's roots, Joy hisses and scowls and yells, "Stop being such a Goddamn baby! We're all fucking tired! We all want it to fucking end! You're not special!"

"Joy!" Tyler covers her mouth with their hand, and Joy bites, and Tyler screams. Jon to the rescue, Jon takes Joy's squirming body, with Josh's help, and places her in the seat with Ana. Ana licks the side of her face. Jon takes the scissors from her and gives them to Josh, who sticks them in the furthest part of his bag.

"You don't bite people—or stab them," Tyler says, pointing, blood on their hand.

"Whatever!" Joy pushes the hood from her head. "I'm right."

"Yes, you are right, but that doesn't make biting or  _stabbing_  people okay."

Josh attends to Tyler the best he can. Tyler doesn't accept the help. They're bunching the sleeve of their sweatshirt into their palm and holding it there tightly, squeezing, squeezing tears from their eyes. "Just go, Sarah." Tyler won't raise their head. Josh is their eyes, connecting with Sarah in the rear-view mirror.

From the passenger seat, Brendon is red in the face, damp, propping his head with his elbow on the window. He's looking at the reflections in the seats behind him, jaw clenched, lips parted. Pissed, upset, embarrassed, Josh offers an apologetic smile, one that Brendon returns with a cheek twitch.

After a final look up at the sky, Sarah eases her foot onto the gas pedal. They all ignore the  _ping-ping-ping_  of hail.

It's Jon's turn to sing, to rap, to preoccupy Joy. He's scat-singing, smiling, nodding his head. And Joy's into it. She bounces in her seat, and Ana seems to nod along with her owner. Who knows how many nights she spent with Jon entertaining her, entertaining himself.

Brendon shuts his eyes, feet on the dash, next to his phone.

Tyler peels the sweatshirt from their hand, the bleeding stopped.

Josh pulls Tyler into his chest.

And Sarah continues their journey to the promised land.

*

So slow and so careful, the SUV rolls along the roads. Their travel time is doubled that if they were in optimal travel conditions. It's approaching nightfall when they creep into the suburb. The hail a constant, on the road there, no cars frequented the streets. Josh is inclined to believe it's due to them all currently residing in the driveways and garages of each neat house. Green lawns flooded, white picket fences crooked and filthy, streetlamps busted with glass decorating the sidewalks, somehow Josh feels safe. Josh thinks he's forcing himself to make this safe for them. They have nowhere else to go.

Josh rubs Tyler's back.

Jon's asleep, Joy on top of him. Ana is alert.

"It's up here," Sarah says.

The car crawls toward the end of the street, toward a house with a flooded front lawn and a missing letter on the mailbox.

"We should be okay here for a few days. Brendon and I have food."

Brendon hasn't moved nor said a word since the spat with Joy.

"There's not a lot of furniture. Just the bare minimum," Sarah continues. "We were meaning to shop for some more, but… you know what happened next."

"You two were going to tell me eventually, right?" Tyler's voice is small.

"The day the fires started," Sarah says, "we were going to let you see the place."

Tyler looks at the house, eyes wide.

Sarah reaches over, shouldering on her bag. "The bedroom upstairs is obviously ours. There's another spare room with a bed, and then we have the couch."

Waking with no warning, Jon rubs his eyes and calls the couch.

Everybody follows Sarah's lead, pulling on their bags, pulling hoods or hats closer to their heads. The hail is harder now. They'll need to run.

In possession of the key, Sarah and Brendon go first.

Tyler and Josh sprint, hand in hand.

And finally, Ana at his heels and Joy to his chest, Jon follows the lead.

"This place is bitchin'," Jon says, upon arrival.

"No kidding," Josh agrees.

Everybody is too tired to point out the foul language or say their good nights. As soon as feet touch hardwood, they filter out and cover as much ground as they can, especially in terms of Ana. She drags her muzzle across the floor, Joy standing by to watch her. She stands there, dripping, and Tyler walks over to her, gently taking her hand. Their bag on one shoulder and a panda pack on the other, Tyler is crouching, sliding their feet back to draw Joy toward the spare bedroom. "Do you want to go to bed?" they ask her, but her answer won't be taken into consideration. Tyler will whisk her away to bed anyway because, as Joy likes to point out, they're the adult, and whatever an adult says goes.

She fights it, though. She has to protest. "I don't want to sleep," she says. "I've slept all day."

"Sleeping is—"

"Hey," Jon cuts in, his bag already by the couch, Ana already making her nest with Jon's coat in the corner of the room, next to an end table with no lamp. "Or, or,  _or_  instead of sleeping"—Jon ignores Tyler's narrowed eyes—"you could totally use those scissors you almost stabbed Brendon's eye out with to cut my hair. I'm overdue for a trim."

Joy considers this. Her hair is knotted back in her own attempt at boxer braids, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I guess," she says.

"I'll be in bed," Tyler says. They're tired. They stretch out their hand, toward Josh, and say, "I can take your bag in there."

Josh first retrieves Joy's scissors and gives them to her. Jon and her disappear into the bathroom down the hall, just off the kitchen.

"Here's Jon's blanket, too." Tyler pulls that out of their bag next and passes it to Josh. "You're hanging with them?"

"I'll make sure she goes to bed right after she's done with Jon." Josh smiles, and Tyler smiles.

"Thanks."

They're alone, Sarah and Brendon going upstairs without a trace, Ana dozing on the floor. Josh wonders if the TV hooked on the wall has cable.

"You think all the houses look the same?"

"Why? You thinking about something dangerous?"

"Only if you're there with me."

Lips pressed together, cheeks pink, Tyler stands with no gap between their legs. Three bags on their person and not at all looking as if they're weighed down, Tyler beams, and Tyler says, "I do need a bigger place.  _We're_  going to need a bigger place." If Tyler had a free hand, they'd use it to grab for Josh. "Get her in bed, okay? And don't wake me when you do it. I need my beauty sleep."

"I'll do my best."

And Tyler kisses Josh, and Josh kisses Tyler. "Make sure Jon's okay, too," they quietly add, mindful of the laughter coming from the bathroom. The door is shut, an overhead light bleeding out from under the door. Josh much prefers seeing light there, unlike the water in Tyler's apartment. Would it be flooded completely now? Maybe, once this is all over, they could go back there before going to Jon's house. Salvage, salvage, Josh just wants this all to be over. He needs a break. He needs the hail to stop and the sun to come out.

"Jon's always going to be okay," Josh whispers, but his voice is flat, and Tyler pesters further by poking Josh in the side, their finger curling.

"I mean it. Keep an eye on him."

"You've left him alone with our daughter, if you forgot what happened two minutes ago."

Tyler gasps. "You said, ' _our_ ' daughter."

Josh rolls his eyes. "Go to bed."

With another kiss, Tyler does go to bed, shutting the bedroom door behind them with a gentle bump of their foot.

Jon and Joy are still laughing in the bathroom.

Josh gives Ana a rub behind her ears and sets Jon's blanket on the sofa. The piece of furniture seems soft enough, at first glance. Before Josh can test it for himself, he floats toward the bathroom, where it'd be strange to hear silence now. Joy's the one who opens the door when Josh knocks, the hint of a smile on her face, her eyes bright, her cheeks stained. "Hey," she says. "Do you want a haircut, too?"

"What did you do to Jon?"

"Nothing!" Joy laughs, and Jon, from the toilet, says, "Dude, she gave my beard such a good trim."

Judging by their laughter, Josh would have assumed Jon's tone was pure sarcasm, but he's made of honesty and well intentions. At least they remembered to drape a towel over Jon's lap to catch the stray hair.

"Yeah, it looks good," Josh says.

"You haven't even taken off your jacket yet, man," Jon says, and he frowns. "Get comfortable, okay? We'll be out soon. Well, I'm gonna try and shower after this, but…" Jon shrugs, Joy, still in her coat and rain boots, walking up behind him with her scissors in hand. Jon's eyes are on Josh as he tosses the baseball cap from his head onto the sink and pulls at the hair tie on his wrist. Hastily, with no thought to look in a mirror, Jon pulls his hair back and tells Joy, "Cut where the tie is."

So, Joy does, without hesitation, and Jon runs his fingers through his hair, long, but too short to pull back. The transition from the hair at the crown of his head to the sides is less noticeable, the hair almost the same length.

"Want me to shave the sides?" Joy asks.

Jon says, "No," and holds out his hand for the clump of hair Joy snipped off. He laughs at it. "Man," he says, and that's all.

Joy slices her scissors through the air.

"Your mom wants you in bed now," Josh says.

"Okay," Joy says. Josh thinks she's tired. She keeps blinking, keeps sliding the blades of her scissors together. "I need to apologize to Brendon."

"You can do that later." Josh takes Joy's scissors, placing them on the sink counter, with Jon's hat. He holds her hand next and draws her out from the bathroom. Josh says to Jon, "I'll ask Sarah if it's okay to use the… plumbing."

Jon's staring at his hair. He acknowledges Josh's voice with a wave of his fingers.

On the way to the bedroom down the hall, Josh pulls off Joy's jacket and the sweater she wore underneath. In the room, the lights off, Tyler in bed, Josh lifts Joy from the carpet, swinging her out of her boots and carefully dropping her onto the queen-sized mattress. Tyler grumbles, but they're too far gone to produce a proper reply. Curled up beneath several blankets—three, that Josh can see in the dark—Tyler looks more at peace now than they have been in days.

Joy busies herself with pulling off the rest of her layers while Josh searches for the white elastic sleeve for her leg. He finds it in Tyler's backpack, resting at the top, above a couple objects best suited for a more private climate wrapped in an old towel. Josh smiles at that, but says nothing.

"You are going to sleep, right?" Joy raises her eyebrow, taking the sleeve from Josh and slipping her leg inside. She fixes her shorts after. "You do need to relax."

"I will. Don't worry about me." Josh taps Joy's nose and leans in to kiss her forehead. She scrunches her nose a little, shaking her head, though she allows Josh to kiss her face more—each cheek, the bridge of her nose, her forehead again.

" _Josh_ ," she says, giggling.

Tyler grumbles more.

Josh shushes Joy. "Go to sleep."

He leaves the bedroom and starts toward the stairs, passing the bathroom on his way. Jon's standing by this time, tossing the hair into a trash bin by the toilet. It's okay, since there's a bag in the trash can. Brendon and Sarah weren't simply looking for a new home. Judging by the impressions on the couch, the bags in garbage cans, and the general atmosphere of the house itself, they had already spent nights and possibly days on end inside the interior. Maybe them going to invite Tyler to their place the day the world ended was part of a home-welcoming party. When it comes down to it, who really knows? They're here now. They're safe here, for the moment.

Upstairs, Sarah is in bed, a TV atop a dresser by the door turned on, implying they have cable and the hail isn't strong enough to knock it out. A shower runs somewhere to Josh's right, but it shuts off, and a curtain slides along the railing, pushed aside. Josh says, "So, it's okay to use the shower."

Instead of Sarah providing assurance, Brendon emerges from the en suite bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips. "Yeah, of course," he says, Sarah nodding her head in agreement and flipping through channels. Brendon looks better. Faint scratches line his cheek and collar bone, from Joy's scissors, but overall, he could be unscathed if he keeps his mouth shut. "Is everybody settled down there? Everybody okay?"

"For the most part."

"You look—"

"Yeah," Josh says. "I know."

"Here." Brendon, water droplets dripping from his hair, unzips his own bag, looking emptier than should be acceptable in conditions like this. He rummages inside for a moment and draws out a small baggy, filled with everything to make Sarah roll her eyes and go, "Brendon, there's a child here."

"As long as he keeps the door closed and a window open, we should be okay." Brendon holds out the bag.

Josh takes it with no second thought.

"There's rolling paper in there, too," Brendon says.

"Cool," Josh says.

"Have a good night," Brendon says, and Josh smiles and returns downstairs.

Pausing in his trip to tell Jon he's allowed to bathe, Josh slips into the bedroom to tug off his clothes. Only snoring accompanies the hail outside. That's a sound Josh can relish in. He takes this time to lean over Tyler and kiss the curve of their ear. Quietly, they breathe, and quietly, they murmur, "I love you, man."

"I love you, too," Josh whispers, and kisses the corner of Tyler's mouth. "I'm going to keep Jon company, until he falls asleep."

"Give 'im a sloppy kiss for me," Tyler says, and pulls the blankets over their head.

Josh closes the door behind him.

Dressed down to socks, shorts, and a loose t-shirt, Josh checks on Jon in the bathroom. He raps his knuckles into the wood and only enters when Jon deems it acceptable. Because of the absence of running water, Josh thinks he's going to walk in on Jon naked and waiting for the water to heat up. The absence of running water doesn't mean a thing, not when Jon has decided a bath would do him better than a shower.

"Hey," he says to Josh's face peeking from around the door. "Could you get me that doll from my coat pocket? Ana should let you have it. Figured I could… wash it in here with me." Feet propped on the side of the tub, bubbles covering everything of importance, Jon gazes at Josh, head tilted back against the tile wall of the shower.

"Yeah, I could do that. Hold this baggy for me. You got a lighter somewhere?"

"In my pants. What—?" Jon blinks. He turns the baggy around, as if he's being lied to from one side. " _Dude_. You've been holding out."

"Have not. Brendon just gave that to me. Save some for Tyler." Josh fishes the lighter from Jon's jeans.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, man." Twisted around and using the tub's ledge to roll a joint, Jon flicks his eyes up to Josh.

Josh says, "We can just smoke one together, if that's okay."

"That's okay with me." Jon takes the lighter.

Josh ducks into the living room to grab the Raggedy Ann doll from Jon's coat pocket. Like a giant doll herself, Ana is easy to move in order to retrieve the toy. Her paws twitch, and she huffs, but for the most part, she stays contained to the coat. Josh wonders what came first—Ana or the coat? Ana huffs again. She was here first.

A gentleman, Jon waits to light up until Josh enters the bathroom. The joint rests between his fingers, a good shape. Jon knows what he's doing. "Just drop the toy in here." He gestures toward the tub, the water near his stomach.

Josh does. He reaches up and pushes open the window above the tub a little, enough to let out the smoke. The hail is slowing. It should be gone by morning.

Jon voices Josh's thoughts as a flame dances on his fingers. "It seems like it's going to end soon."

"'Soon,'" Josh says, sitting on the toilet lid. "Everybody says that."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"I feel like everything's coming to an end, like… everything is just…" Josh doesn't continue. He rubs his eyes.

Arm out, Jon holds the joint for Josh to take. When Josh takes it, Jon turns his attention to the doll currently covered in bubbles. He sits up properly and rubs the soap into the doll's face, removing the mud streaked across the nose.

One leg crossed over the other, a too-large inhale in his lungs, Josh bends forward, tips forward, and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. Eyes on him, ice beating against the screen of the window, Josh lets out his exhale and breathes it back in. In and out, an endless cycle, he pushes himself back up to give the joint to Jon.

Jon hasn't stopped staring at him. "You wanna talk?"

"I just want it all to end. I want things to go back to normal—and I know I sound like a  _fucking_ —I don't know." Josh rocks. Josh rubs his eyes. "It's not wrong of me to— _shit_. I sound like Tyler."

"You sound like every reasonable person right now." Jon drops ashes into the tub.

"I had to talk to Tyler just this morning and now I—"

"We all need to sleep."

"I guess I'm scared about what comes after."

In one hand, Jon has the joint, in the other, the doll, heavy and sodden. "Put this in the sink, and put this in your mouth."

Josh decides to sit on the floor after wringing out the doll and allowing it to lie in the concave of the porcelain. The side of his t-shirt gets soaked with the water crawling down the side of the tub, but Josh hardly notices. He blows his exhale into the air above them and says, "I think you forgot some shampoo near your temples."

Jon cups water in his hands, lets it fall over his head. The suds vanish.

Josh leans forward, kissing Jon's mouth. Wet, lips open, Jon squeaks, actually squeaks, and he touches Josh's neck, pulling Josh in close, tongue and teeth and spit. "You—"

"That was from Tyler."

"I want to pull you into this tub right now and—"

"Impractical. I'll get all wet."

"You're already wet. Your nipples—"

"Don't talk about them. Here." Josh places the joint in Jon's mouth. "That's better, isn't it?"

Jon narrows his eyes.

Josh sits on the toilet again, sits on his hands. His toes curl, legs swing. A smile is on his face. When he starts laughing, Jon laughs with him.

"Do you need to let anything off your chest?" Josh asks.

"This weed's good."

"I've had better."

"Look," Jon says, struggling to sit up and keep the joint above the water. "I'm with you all the fucking way. I'm scared shitless. I'm paranoid out of my damn mind, but that could be the weed,  _but_  I'm worried. I'm terrified. I'm frightened I'm gonna lose Ana. Do you know the last time she actually had  _dog_  food—or an actual bowel movement? Frankly, I'm worried about my own digestive system right now. I think I've lost weight."

"You still look good."

"The point is… don't stress about… losing your cool because, believe it or not, we're all losing it here. Some of us are just able to… keep it on the down low."

"I feel like I'm going to blow up."

"I'll be here to pick up the pieces because… we're going to be okay," Jon says, speaking the gospel. Somehow still warm, Jon sinks into the water. Nearly all the bubbles gone, Jon pulls his legs into the water, sticking out his knees. Arm up, joint out of the water, Jon is a tangle of dark hair and tattoos. He's beautiful.

"We're going to be okay, and do you know how I know that?"

"How?"

Slow, in such a simple fashion to prevent the water from cracking a peep, Jon looks at Josh and digs his thumb into the butt of his joint and says, "It's snowing."

And Josh turns his head toward the window above the tub and admires the large flakes creeping into the bathroom. They flutter, and they dance, and Josh smiles. "Yeah," he says. "It is."


	10. Had to Perish Twice

Jon pulls a pube from his teeth. Glued to his thumb with too much saliva, instead of trying to flick it away, Jon rubs his thumb into Josh's clit. Slowly, Jon pulls back the hood and spits. He whispers, half-joking, "I think you're harder than me right now."

Stretched out on the sofa, legs spread and on each side of Jon's head, Josh keeps on his shirt and socks and a loose grip on the edge of the blanket currently slipping to the floor. He stares at Jon, smiling at Jon lowering himself to Josh's clit again, dragging his tongue along the length of it. Jon does it again, but this time he uses the ball tip of the ring through his tongue. He keeps his eyes on Josh.

Josh squirms. "Suck on it. Suck my clit."

On his knees, naked, hair damp from his bath and beard damp from Josh, Jon sucks on Josh's clit.

Josh whimpers, softly, mindful of Ana snoring and the rest of the house. "C'mere," Josh says, nodding, "and kiss me."

The couch cushions are smooth, the pillows decorative. Josh uses one with flowers to prop his head as Jon climbs on, settles between his legs, and kisses him.

Tasting of paper and the faintest twinge of metal, Jon digs his teeth into Josh's bottom lip. The tug is playful. Remnants of marijuana still in their systems, Josh finds himself feeling along Jon's arms more. He squeezes Jon's biceps and shoulders, and he makes sentences in the blackheads along Jon's nose.

Jon's cock is heavy against Josh's thigh. It leaks pre-come, messy, would be embarrassing if this weren't Josh or Jon.

"Hey," Jon says.

Josh pops a pimple at the tip of Jon's nose, using both thumbnails. He hears it pop. "I'm wet enough," Josh says, pinching Jon's nose tip, pushing out the pus between his thumbnails. "You can fuck me."

"M'not gonna last long." Jon grabs Josh's hips, for leverage, and inches his dick inside Josh. It's slow, not that calculated, just slow to enjoy the stretch, the feeling of filling and being filled.

Josh wraps his arms around Jon's neck. "That's okay. You've already found my g-spot."

Jon's prediction was right. Three minutes of rocking and grunting into shoulders, Jon comes on the curve of Josh's thigh, and Josh comes as Jon's spunk spurts onto his thigh. They don't lie there and wait to catch their breaths. Jon slides down and cleans up the mess the best he can with fingers and tongue. He doesn't offer Josh any, which Jon only realizes once he's dressing.

"Did you want a taste?" he asks, tying his sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt.

"No, it's okay. I mean it." Josh finds his shorts and steps into them.

"Dunno what came over me. I… I'm sorry if you didn't want to have sex with me."

"Shut up," Josh says, and takes Jon's hands, busy tugging his hair. Josh rubs Jon's knuckles. "I wanted it. I want you."

Jon leans in, kissing Josh's mouth, his top lip. No part, no tongue, Jon presses dry lips to dry lips and says, "That one's for Tyler. Go to bed."

"Don't feel like you're taking time away from Tyler or whatever."

"I don't. I'm not." Jon shakes his head. "I've been in polyamorous relationships before, Josh, and it's not… We never kept track of how long someone was with someone and what they did and where they did it. That's not how these sorts of relationships work. It's like… you'll always have someone with you, no matter the time or circumstance. No jealousy, no bitterness, it's a partnership, like any other relationship. The sex is just a plus. You feel me?"

Josh smiles. "It's still new to me. Before Tyler… I slept around. I… I was reckless. I guess I feel like being with you, it helps me get out that wild streak. I'unno."

Another dry kiss, but this time to Josh's forehead, Jon says, "It's okay. Remember what I told you."

"Don't stress."

"Yes, and go to bed."

"If you need anything, get one of us."

"Thanks for that, but I have Ana right now, and she's always been my number one." At the mention of her name, Ana rises and crawls toward the couch. She tries to weasel her way onto the sofa. Neither Josh nor Jon scolds her because the cushions are dark and easy to mask her fur.

"Still," Josh says, standing, "if you need anything."

Using the pillow now, Ana on top of him, Jon says, "Could you tuck us in?"

Josh does exactly that, and then kisses Jon's forehead and Ana's ears.

"Oh," Jon says, "your leg's okay, yeah?"

Josh twists, turning on his heel as he shows Jon his leg. "I'll take off the bandages in the morning, but it doesn't hurt anymore. That's good."

"It is good." Jon leans his head against Ana's head. She's looking up, like she doesn't appreciate Jon's actions right now, though her heart doesn't allow her to bark. Her tail wags, beating against the blanket.

"Still," Jon whispers, repeating Josh's sentiment, scratching the sides of Ana's face. Josh is already rolling his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up."

"I  _am_  sorry."

"I told you to shut up, Jon."

"Why won't you accept my apology?"

"Why won't you stop apologizing? I fucking—"

"Stop yelling at me."

It should have been small, the faintest hint of sorrow and maybe even helplessness, but Jon is stern. He's lying on his back, a big black dog on top of him, and he has no irises, just coal for eyes. No fire, no fucking light, Jon stares at Josh and with a hiss in his voice, he says, "I can't help it, Josh. I fucking hurt you—and I know Ana's the one who bit you." He notices Josh's parted lips, the twitch in Josh's fingers. "I know Ana bit you, but it hurts me as much as it hurts you. She's torn me to pieces, too. She's gotten hurt. She's attacked me when I tried to help her. I know how much she fucking hurts."

"Maybe you shouldn't have her, if she's liable to  _bite_  people."

"You don't mean that."

"You're right. I meant 'kill'."

Ana doesn't realize she's being moved. She's trying to sleep. On the other hand, Jon appears as if he won't be able to go to sleep for some time. He's on his feet, shoulders pulled back, not an inch of space between him and Josh. His eyes are pink, irritated. He should rub at them, but he tilts his head. He says, "You know our fucking situation," and points at Josh's chin. "You know what fucking happened, and you know how much that fucked me up. Don't you—"

"We have a child here. If Ana's going to—"

"She's not going to do anything. What—?" And Jon laughs. He actually laughs, and he shakes his finger and shakes his head, and he takes a step back, and he takes another step back. "This isn't real. I'm—y-you're not actually mad at me. I'm high. It's the pot. It's messin' with my head. You're not really upset with me. You're  _worried_." Jon flutters to the floor. He touches Josh's hips, laughing. "You're worried."

"I don't know what's going on."

"I don't either, man."

"I do think you need to stop apologizing about my leg."

"I'll try."

Josh works his fingers through Jon's hair. "I didn't mean to… blow up."

"We're  _high_." Jon laughs more.

"Get up. Get on the couch."

"Tuck us in again." Jon won't let go of Josh's hips, his hands fists as they clutch Josh's shorts. Trembling, eyes wet and staining the front of Josh's shirt, Jon cries, whimpers, snots, and drools.

"Please," he whines, "please, please, please."

Josh sits on the floor and lets Jon crawl into his lap, sob into his lap. "I don't know how to say 'no' to people. I don't know how to act around people anymore. I'm too nice. I'm too hopeful. My boyfriend and son died, and I locked myself in my house, and no one checked on me or talked to me, and if it weren't for this fucking weather, I wouldn't have ventured outside. He wasn't even my boyfriend. We weren't together. I wanted us to get back together. I loved him so much. We were going to have lunch, and then he died, and my s-son was in the backseat, and—"

"Jon, you don't have to tell me—"

"I didn't see him a lot, but he was my whole world. He was only three years old. He had so much more for him."

Josh pushes Jon's hair from his face. He listens.

Jon says, "I'm losing it."

Josh says, "We're all losing it."

Jon raises his hand, pointing again. His finger goes up Josh's nose. "I told you that."

"Yes, you did. Please stop picking my nose."

"We are going to be okay." Jon pushes himself into a kneeling position, his hands on his knees, his eyes on Josh's eyes.

"Because it's snowing?"

"Because there's so much better weed out there, man."

*

It's more morning than night, and snow continues to fall.

Tyler's confined to the middle of the bed, perhaps their subconscious letting them know Josh would need to slip in much later. Both Tyler and Joy are fast asleep on first glance. As Josh gets into bed, Tyler moves, Tyler scoots over, close, closer, nose to the back of Josh's neck, and Tyler whispers, "You smell like pot."

"Jon has the rest of it in his bag," Josh says, low. "Brendon gave it to me. I don't know if you'd want any of it."

"Why?" Tyler drapes their arm over Josh's torso.

"Let's just say you were right in telling me to make sure Jon was okay."

Tyler hums. "I'm always fucking right. Joy, too.  _We're_  always fucking right, in our own capacity. We know things. We are our own seers."

"I think you need to talk to Jon. He's so—"

"We all are."

Josh smiles. "I was gonna say 'fucked up'."

Tyler hums again. "We all are."

"It's snowing, you know."

"I heard the hail stop. I guess snow is okay."

Josh turns around, faces Tyler. He kisses Tyler's mouth, dry lips to dry, chapped lips. "That was from Jon."

Not receptive, heavy lids, Tyler pulls the blankets around Josh more. "You look cold."

And Josh doesn't protest because Tyler is warm, and Josh likes being warm.

*

Joy wakes them by smacking pillows into their heads. With her attitude the day before, the force she uses to flatten the pillows against their skulls should be more aggressive. However, she's gentle. She whispers, too, easing herself into their personal space to ask if there's any cereal in the kitchen and if they would all be allowed to play in the snow later.

Tyler rouses first, exaggerating their stretching and yawns. "I dunno, Joy," they say, mouth wide open and eyes shut.

Bottom lip stuck out as far it can go, Joy says, "Please. I've been good."

" _You?_  You've been good?" Tyler sits, palms rubbing into their eye sockets. "Hey, Josh, do you mind telling me what happened to Brendon yesterday?"

She's shushing Josh by waving her hands, shaking her head, the braids in her hair flying. "Okay, okay, I get it.  _Jeez_."

Josh rolls from bed. The Androgel is in Tyler's backpack.

Tyler kisses her cheek. "I'm messing with you. We can totally play in the snow later." They scoop Joy into their arms, squeezing her and spinning her around the room. During this, Josh smiles and picks Joy's leg from the floor. He helps her into it, giving Tyler the elastic sleeve to put away. Tyler says, "We need to check the weather in case—"

Joy sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry.

Tyler does it right back.

*

Despite there being a table in the kitchen, complete with chairs suitable for sitting, everybody who enters the kitchen occupies the space by standing and leaning on counters, bowls of cereal in hand, residue of milk on their bottom lips. Sarah and Brendon are the ones closest to the fridge, heads nearly together by their posture. And Jon… Josh makes eye contact with him first. Wearing baggy clothes and mostly regret, Jon's eating his cereal dry. His face is pale, his lips pink from biting them, and he's shaking as he plucks a Froot Loop from the top of his cereal pile to drop on his tongue. Josh stares at him, and Jon stares back, a green Froot Loop on his tongue, his piercing perfectly in the center of the cereal piece's hole.

"Do you guys have Cheerios?" Joy asks.

As Sarah gets out a bowl and the box for Joy, Jon pushes himself from the counter and guides Josh to the living room by a flick of his eye. Josh follows without a second thought.

Jon drops onto the sofa, at the end, the blanket tossed to this side. He pulls it over his feet and hands over his bowl for Josh to take when he sits down, too. "Aren't you hungry?" Josh immediately pushes the bowl away, but Jon frowns, and Josh doesn't have the energy to put up much of a fight.

"Share," Jon says.

Josh tosses a handful into his mouth.

Tyler appears around the corner, half their face showing before they deem it acceptable to step further into the room. They look around, feet dragging along the carpet. Josh watches them stare at the ceiling fan and the television on the wall, turned on to the news already. The meteorologists are talking about the snow, and how it seems  _normal_  for the moment. Tyler glances at the window next, Josh glancing with them. Nothing is falling from the sky.

"Why aren't you in the kitchen?" Tyler sits on the floor, a bowl of Waffle Crisp for them.

Ana's in the corner now, atop Jon's coat, and chewing on her paw.

Josh doesn't answer.

Jon says, "I don't feel well."

"I was going to be a vet," Tyler says. "I can help you."

Jon laughs. It sounds healthy, happy. He tugs on his sleeves. "Really?"

"Really." Tyler smiles. "Want me to write you a prescription for—?"

"Please," Josh slides in, "don't finish that sentence."

This time, they all three laugh. Jon has to wipe his eyes.

*

Tyler is wrapping a scarf around Joy's neck when they ask her, "Have you brushed your teeth today?"

To her silence, Tyler twists her around and pushes her toward the direction of the bathroom. "Go in there and brush your teeth, girlie. I brought your toothbrush."

"I wish you didn't."

"What was that?"

" _Nothing_."

Jon smiles next to Josh. Both he and Josh are already dressed to go outside. Layers and more layers, Josh even let Tyler tug a scarf from their bag to drape over his shoulders. They offered Jon one after noticing his lingered gaze. "I think I have a green one. It's not, like,  _neon_."

"Yeah, sure," Jon said, and he's wearing it now, pressing his face into the dark fabric as they all patiently wait for Joy to finish brushing her teeth. Sarah and Brendon are outside, also waiting for their friends to join them. Josh can hear Brendon singing show tunes.

Joy emerges from the bathroom with a baseball cap and the Raggedy Ann doll in each hand. She passes Jon his cap, which Jon takes and smashes onto his head without a word. To the doll, Joy says, "Is this yours, too?"

Jon nods, again, without a word.

"Do you want it back?" Her eyes are wide, lips parted. The scar on her cheek is barely noticeable.

Jon shakes his head. He sticks his hands in his pocket, Ana by his heels, always by his heels.

"Is it for me?" she asks now.

And again, silent, Jon nods.

Joy smiles. "Thanks." She sets it on a chair in the living room, making sure the legs are straight and the arms are in the lap.

Tyler holds out their hand. "Come on, before it gets too cold."

They head out the front door first, then Ana, and Jon and Josh trail behind. The same in posture, Josh keeps his hands confined to his coat pockets and his lower face to his scarf. Jon blinks several times and bumps his arm into Josh's. They link arms, hands returning to the warmth of their coats.

The snow that falls is that of light density. Barely seen by those in motion, the flurry is more the texture of air than water. Light and fluffy, what few flakes there are make their home on hoods of jackets and facial hair. It sticks and doesn't melt. Jon doesn't mind. He watches Ana bounce in the snow, leaping over the uneven ground, and nip at the snow. Josh leans in, kissing Jon's cheek. Scarf and beard, Josh can feel it along his lips.

"Walk with me?" Jon raises his eyebrows.

"Of course."

The exteriors of the houses are enough for Josh's prediction that each home is identical to be right. Two stories, slanted roof, brick siding, the suburb is made of tiny matchboxes. Josh and Jon walk along what they assume is the sidewalk, the heels of their boots sinking into the snow.

"Hey," Jon whispers, and pulls out a plastic baggy, a joint already pre-rolled inside.

"I didn't think you'd want to smoke again, after yesterday."

Jon only shrugs. He sticks the baggy into his pocket and retrieves his lighter. Josh parts his lips, Jon sets it inside, and he lights the joint.

They link arms once more and continue their walk.

"Did you want to talk?"

Jon says, "No," and that's that. They pass the joint and listen to Brendon sing and Joy laugh.

At the corner of the street, they stop and turn on their heels. Josh looks at the houses they've walked past, and he looks at Tyler only a few feet behind. Arms over their chest, a beanie and their hood pulled over their head, they stomp through the snow, high-stepping as if it were mud instead. The scarf around their neck is the striped one, the one of ugly colors and ridiculous length. Jon sucks on the joint.

"Could'a told me you two were gonna take a little walk," Tyler says. "I would have come with you." Then, they pause because they notice the joint in Jon's mouth. They mumble, "Oh."

Josh thinks about ratting out Jon, saying Jon brought it out here without any influence from anyone, but Jon's stepping forward, presenting it to Tyler. Tyler eases it from Jon's fingers, their glove getting ashy. In one smooth move, Tyler pulls an inhale and blows out an exhale.

"I've had better," Tyler concludes, and passes the joint to Josh.

"Yeah." Jon lowers his head and kicks at the snow.

"Are you guys busy later?" Tyler gets closer to them, huddling in close to the joint for warmth. "We should totally screw around."

Jon smiles. He takes the joint from Josh and sucks.

"Definitely," Josh says, letting out his exhale. "How's Joy?"

"Making snow angels with Sarah. Brendon's supervising them. She's having the time of her life."

"You guys can, like, ignore me because I'm about to be so stupid, but I feel eyes on me."

Immediately, Josh touches Jon's back, fingers curling and itching to touch skin. Skin-on-skin contact is comfort. Jon is a ghost. He needs comfort.

Tyler shakes their head. "You're not being stupid. There is someone watching us—on that porch."

Paranoia trapped under his layers, Jon turns his head to see. Too fast, potentially causing whiplash, Jon shudders. Josh pulls him in close, his chest to Josh's arm. Two seconds is what it takes for Jon to rotate on his tiptoes and complete the hug. If not for the scarf, Josh's neck would be dripping wet from Jon's runny nose.

Tyler takes the blunt from Jon. "I would say not to be obvious, but—"

"I know," Jon sighs.

Josh looks around Jon's head and at the porch. He grows cold. He shivers with Jon, and Jon pulls him closer, closer. "It's okay," Jon says.

"I need to get out of here," Josh whispers to Jon and Tyler.

Tyler narrows their eyes.

"Someone carry me away."

Jon's about to do just that when the stranger on the porch leaves the porch to approach them. Josh doesn't look. He can't look. Tyler shuffles closer to Josh, nonchalantly, to hide him. Jon lets him go in order to conceal Josh along with Tyler. They're good. They're so good.

But their visitor isn't blind. Tall, looming like a predator, dressed in a thin jacket with a beanie pulled on his head, the man before them only meant to step outside long enough to finish the cigarette burning between his fingers. He may stay longer. He's tilting his head and smiling, going, "Oh, my God— _Josh_ , is that you?"

Josh can't hide. He wants to hide, and he can't. "Yeah. Hey."

Adam stands there, his teeth more yellow than Josh has ever seen them. He reeks of confidence, and Josh loathes that. "Damn, I thought I wouldn't see you again. Did you get a new number? Haven't been able to reach you."

Tyler lets the joint dissipate in their fingers. They don't look away from Adam.

"No, my number is… Maybe it's this weather."

"Maybe." Adam knows.

Josh looks at his feet.

"How long are you guys staying in the area? It feels like I haven't seen you in forever." He directs this question at Josh because Adam doesn't care about Tyler, and he doesn't care about Jon. His eyes are only on Josh, on the narrow space Josh vacates as he stands behind Jon's and Tyler's shoulders. It doesn't matter Josh keeps his head to the ground and isn't interested; Adam is here for Josh.

Tyler jumps in. "Not too sure, actually. We were thinking about seeing what's just north of here. We never stay in one place for too long. You know how it is. Just three happy boys and their dog seeing the sights." Ana's with them now, bounding toward them with a grin on her face and a wag in her tail. She stands next to Tyler, nose tipped up to smell Adam without getting close. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume she doesn't like what she senses by her ears pinning to her head.

Adam thinks this is hilarious. "What a cute dog."

Ana doesn't fall for it.

Adam turns to Josh. "No, but seriously—hit me up. We could reminisce about old times."

"Whatever," Josh says. He touches Jon's back, and Jon reaches behind him to grab Josh's hand.

Ana growls.

Adam says, "Well, it's getting cold. Should go inside. It's supposed to get way worse tonight."

They don't move. They wait until Adam goes into the house, until the front door closes, until the front door locks.

And then, Josh runs.

And Jon, Tyler, and Ana follow.

*

Sat on the floor of the living room, the ceiling fan light overhead turned on, Josh strips himself down to his boxers and lets Tyler remove the bandages from his leg. Jon is beside him, in the baggy clothes from this morning and still sporting the green infinity scarf around his neck. He's watching Tyler, nose burrowed in that scarf, picking at his nails. Josh can't read Jon's mind, but Josh can read Jon's mind.

"It looks really good," Tyler says, folding the bandage and setting it beside them. They scoot closer and lift Josh's leg to place in their lap. Josh turns it from each side, allowing Tyler to see the injury from all angles.

"I think it looks good, too," Josh says. He turns to Jon. Josh lightly nudges him. "What do you think?"

Jon smiles, nods.

Tyler gets up to toss the bandaging in the nearest trash can. Josh pulls on his pants.

Tilting his chin up, escaping from the confinements of the scarf, Jon says, "You don't gotta tell me because I totally understand if it's too… much for you, but, like,  _dude_ , if we're gonna be dealing with that little shit from now on, I think I should know what he did to you."

Josh is quiet.

Jon chews on his lip. "That's too invasive. I'm sorry. It's just… I dunno. You can be vague. I'll get it. I'm a smart guy."

"He was rude, emotionally and mentally abusive. Sometimes he would hit me, but it was always during sex, so most people think I'm kinky when I tell them that. He wasn't always… like that—maybe he always was, and I just ignored it. He was there with me through it all, helped me, told me I didn't have to change for him to still love me."

Tyler lingers in the kitchen, their back to them and the living room. They grip a counter and bow their head.

"I told him I wasn't going to change as long as he didn't change," Josh continues. "It was meant to be a joke, you know. Of course I was going to change because I was fucking transitioning, but… it was more of a metaphorical change. I don't think I changed in that way. My family didn't think I did either. They said I was happier, but he… he was always a monster, and I didn't notice it until now. I would yell at my dad for being overprotective, and I would scream at my mom for spitting in his food. Now… I see what they saw. They saw a monster. I don't know why I still let him fuck me long after I got the courage to break it off with him. I guess it was because he was good in bed, and I was lonely and horny."

Jon laughs at that, broken and sad.

Josh smiles. Jon takes his hand. Josh says, "I've already told Tyler all this, or alluded to it in some way. When the world ended, we were fucking on his couch. He, uh, he eventually held a knife to my throat… I continue to have nightmares. He said nothing would happen to him if he killed me. I don't want to be another statistic. I want—"

Arms outstretched, Jon pulls Josh into his lap and rubs Josh's back. Fingers splayed, covering as much territory as they can, Jon shakes his head repeatedly. He's trying to be a comfort, and it's working. "Remember what I told you, okay? Me and Tyler"—Jon looks over at Tyler, now leaned against the doorjamb into the living room—"we're going to make sure no one—especially him—touches you again."

"He's just a really bad person," Josh says.

"Who's a bad person?" Brendon enters the house, snow up to his ankles and melting as soon as it slides off his boots. He tosses his scarf and hat on the kitchen counter, Joy running up behind him to wrap herself around Tyler's legs.

"Josh's ex," Tyler answers, taking off Joy's own hat and ruffling her hair, free of any braids or knots.

"Was this person particularly nasty?" Brendon grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He cracks it open.

"Very," Tyler says. "You know how it goes."

"Say no more." Brendon takes a sip. "I think Joy said something about spending the night with us tonight, if it's okay with you."

Tyler brushes Joy's hair off her face, thumbing her eyebrow. " _Well_ , I suppose."

Joy shoves her hands into Tyler's thighs. "Shut up."

Tyler pushes her toward the living room, where she was heading anyway. They follow suit. Brendon starts upstairs to peel off his layers, Sarah coming through the front door to do the same.

"Hey, Jon," Joy says, ducking around Tyler's hand as they try to mess with her hair again. Tyler stands on their toes to switch off the ceiling fan light.

"Hey, Joy," Jon says. He continues to rub Josh's back.

"Can Ana sleep with me tonight?"

At her name, Ana's tail wags. She stays on the floor, eyes closed, tired from jumping into and from snow.

Jon shrugs. "I don't see a problem with that. It's up to her, though. You can't get mad if she wants to leave."

"I won't. I promise." She holds out her pinky for good measure.

Jon links his with hers, and they shake on it.

While Tyler helps undress her into comfortable attire, Josh climbs from Jon's lap to sit next to him. Jon pulls out his laptop, foregoing the charger for the moment. Unknown to Tyler's eye, Joy's drawings linger between the two lids, and Jon returns them to his backpack. Josh watches him do this. Jon flashes Josh a glimpse of silver, whispering, "Joy gave me these, too, along with your guys' phone chargers. If you need it—"

"Thank you," Josh says. Jon pats Josh's thigh.

Tyler is overly affectionate. They can't stop touching Joy, but Joy hardly seems to mind that, as long as she gets to see whatever Jon's doing on his laptop. So, they sit on the couch, behind Jon and Josh, Joy on Tyler's lap, Tyler hugging Joy with their chin on her head. She asks, "You did all of this?"

"Yeah. It's not really my typical… style, but I think it's cute."

"Even the music?" Josh asks.

"Yeah." Jon grows shy. "Why…? Is it, like… bad?"

"You have the voice of an angel," Tyler says.

Josh pokes Tyler in the knee. "Look who's talking."

Tyler pokes Josh in the back of the head. "You  _look_  like an angel."

Jon joins in. "Now look who's talking."

Joy crosses her arms over her chest. "You guys make me sick."

A tight squeeze, almost lifting her from their lap, Tyler presses their lips to Joy's neck and blows as hard as they can, turning their cheeks a shade of pink. "That's what happens when you're in  _love_ , girlie."

*

Brendon fixes spaghetti. Sarah stirs a second pan of sauce, munching on garlic bread. She tries not to look anywhere but the stove, but Ana shuffles closer and closer, ears drooping, eyes wide. She moves inch by inch, and Sarah smiles. "Wait your turn."

Ana whines.

Jon's dozing on the couch, an arm behind his head and the scarf unfolded and covering the majority of his face.

Joy slurps up her spaghetti, legs swinging on her perch of the recliner. The news is playing. She's as invested as if this were a cartoon or a show more appropriate for her age group. Balanced on the arm of the chair, Tyler sits and stuffs their mouth with garlic bread. The whites of their eyes are still off. In a few hours, they'll be crashing as hard as Jon.

Josh doesn't eat. He remains on the floor, cheek to Jon's chest, and watches the news.

"This snow, I think is safe to say, is such a relief for the region," the meteorologist says, ecstatic.

An anchor, dressed to the nines in winter attire, echoes this. "It seems we're really and finally feeling the right weather for the season. Maybe we're return—"

"Actually it's supposed to be spring."

"What?"

The meteorologist stands awkwardly, wringing the clicker in their hands. "Spring officially started… about a week ago."

Brendon finds this hilarious. Mouth full, a touch of sauce on his chin, he has to leave the living room to get a drink, to clear his throat, to calm down.

Jon stirs. He turns onto his side and faces the back of the couch.

Tyler frowns. "Has it been that long?"

Joy says, "Damn," and nobody notices.

Josh rubs his eyes.

Brendon has a piece of garlic bread hanging from his mouth, which he rips away and chews. Talking without finishing what's in his mouth, he gestures vaguely, crumbs dropping off his bread. "I hardly noticed. We barely get Internet now. Sometimes our phones don't even fucking work. I wouldn't be surprised if we all just fucking dropped dead or were, like, cryogenically frozen for the next hundred years."

"This isn't  _Fallout_ , Brendon." Sarah comes into the room with a bowl of spaghetti sauce. Ana is eager, prancing, and she digs into the sauce once Sarah drops the bowl in the corner of the room, next to Ana's makeshift bed.

"Like I don't know that, Sarah." Brendon tears into his bread. "I'm seriously about to scream. I can't go on Twitter or Instagram. I can't even watch the damn news. They're all lying. They have no idea what's going on or what's going to happen next. Why can't—?"

"Brendon," Joy says, and he shuts up—not completely.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm tired."

"We'll be okay," Tyler says. They mean it. "Everything's going to be okay."

*

"You have sauce on your face."

"Where?"

"Right  _there_." Tyler kisses Joy's cheek.

Joy smacks Tyler's arm, giggling. "Thanks."

"Go brush your teeth. I'll get the sleeve for your leg. Oh!" Tyler crouches, becoming eye level with Joy. "Make sure to kick Brendon outta bed, okay?"

Joy grins. "Always."

"I love you." Tyler kisses Joy's forehead, standing now.

"I guess I love you, too." She's narrowing her eyes, lips pressing together to suppress another smile.

"Go brush your teeth," Tyler says. They laugh.

It doesn't matter what time it is. It's dark outside, the snow starting back up. Josh is using the back of the sofa as a headrest, turned to gaze at the snow falling. Awake, well-rested as well as someone can be, Jon mirrors Josh's position, albeit more lively. His lips are parted, the corners of his mouth turned upward. "It's beautiful," Jon says. "Have you ever seen this much snow?"

"Once," Josh remembers, "when I was a kid, but… I think this is more. Do you think we'll be snowed in?"

Jon shrugs. "We have food here. It's warm. Good company. I think we'll be okay."

Joy makes it upstairs. Tyler wanders into the room, picks up the TV remote, and switches it to mute. Quietly, the snow flutters and flies.

"I want to hear us," Tyler whispers, getting on the couch with Josh and Jon, on Jon's left.

Jon pivots to sit properly. He gives Tyler a portion of the blanket, the heavy material long and wide enough for three people and potentially a large dog if she decides being upstairs isn't to her liking. For now, though, for now, they're by themselves, the three of them.

"Hear us do what?" Jon spreads his arms, draping them around Josh's and Tyler's shoulders. He's trying to act innocent, but he's the one to initiate the kissing.

Tyler immediately glows faintly, cheeks crimson, lips parting. They give and take, rocking. Jon keeps his arm around Josh, his fingers curling, pulling Josh into his side. And Josh tips forward and connects with Jon's neck, Jon's collarbones, and lower.

When Jon turns to kiss Josh's mouth, Tyler automatically lowers themself to Jon's neck, taking over where Josh left off. They push further, moving the night into a new direction. More than just kissing, Tyler plays with the tie on Jon's sweatpants, tugging until it gives, and then they're sliding their hand inside, skin and thick body hair, and Tyler smiles and bites Jon's ear.

Shuddering, Jon spreads his legs, hips absently arching up into anything available. With half-lidded eyes, Josh watches Tyler grip Jon's cock. "Describe it to me," Josh says.

"Hot." Tyler licks their lips. "He's not hard yet. Wait." They're shivering, and it makes Josh shiver. "It just twitched—"

"Lemme take these off."

Tyler removes their hand.

Jon sheds his pants, his boxers, and sticks his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. He's comfortable.

Tyler straddles Jon's hips.

"Shit," Jon says.

Josh touches Tyler's knee. He follows Tyler's movement by nodding his head, slowly up, and then slowly down. The fabric of their leggings is thin, practically see-through where it stretches across their thighs. They sit on Jon's hips, dragging their cunt over Jon's cock. Tyler bounces, a gut reaction. "You fucking keep twitching."

"It feels good. You feel good." Jon cups Tyler's face, too romantic.

Tyler closes their eyes.

Josh pulls the blanket to the arm of the couch. "Can I… c-can we try that?"

"Yeah." Tyler waits on top of Jon, doing their best not to restrict Jon helping Josh get to the same state of dress as him. They're aroused, probably more aroused than Jon and Josh put together. Jon helps them, too, a careful hand on their ass. "I dunno how this is gonna work," Tyler says, as a warning. "You might need to slouch a little."

Tyler is soaked through their leggings. Josh can feel it on his pubic mound. "Let's—"

"Yeah." Tyler places their hands on Josh's shoulders, Josh's hands on their hips. They wiggle, shake, and rock. Josh lifts his hips the best he can, trying to connect, to touch, but Tyler shakes their head and shifts over, straddling one of Josh's thighs, the left one, and presses their knee between Josh's legs. This is better. When Tyler moves their hips, Josh moves his hips, cunt against thigh, wet, drenched.

Jon's touching himself, matching his fist to the pace of their hips. He doesn't say a thing, just watches, and Tyler sticks their fingers in his mouth. Josh doesn't know why, and neither does Jon, but he sucks on them, eyes closing, hand stilling.

Josh realizes he can't get off on this alone. Tyler can't either. They're enjoying the ride, slow and steady. "Please," Tyler says, to anyone, to no one.

Fingers leaving his mouth and saliva on his lips, Jon says, "Here, here, here." He pushes Tyler onto their stomach, across Josh's lap. "Here," he says, and tugs off Tyler's leggings, tossing them to the carpet. "Oh, here, here, here," Jon says, and buries his face between Tyler's legs, hands on the backs of Tyler's thighs, lifting them, sucking their labia, kissing their clit.

"Please," Tyler repeats, but this time it's to Jon—and Josh. Tyler's squirming. They say, "Touch my chest; my nipples are sensitive."

With no thought, running on pure arousal, Josh runs his hands into Tyler's shirt. Chest heaving, Josh tweaks Tyler's nipple, the one with the angel wings.

Tyler groans.

Jon hums.

Tyler gasps. "I just came."

Jon kisses the small of Tyler's back. Then, slowly, Jon presses a kiss to everywhere he can reach. Clothes or no clothes, Jon kisses, and he kisses.

"Hey," Josh says. "Hey, Jon, can I, like, uh… can I fuck you?"

At Tyler's shoulders now, when Jon raises his head, he needs to be careful not to bump the top of his head into Josh's chin. He raises his head, and he's too close. The pimple Josh popped for him is coming back. "D'ya mean… like…?" He doesn't finish, but Josh knows the finish.

"Do you want me to do that?"

Tyler looks between them. Quietly, they say, "I have something that might help."

"That's why I'm asking." Josh digs his teeth into his cheek. Jon won't stop looking at him. Blank expression, head tilted, Jon doesn't even move.

"Jon?"

"His dick's twitching against my thigh." Tyler looks at Josh.

"Fuck me," Jon says.

"Get on your back," Josh says.

"I'll get the lube and the dick," Tyler says.

"And a condom," Jon says.

Tyler snaps and sprints from the room.

Jon stares at Josh. "I'm not a… an expert when it comes to anal, okay? I think I've had… okay, I've definitely… partook in anal sex, and it was great, but—"

"I'll be careful with you." Before lowering himself onto his stomach, Josh grabs the blanket from behind him, rolls it, and stuffs it under Jon's hips. Without Josh's advising, Jon pulls his legs to his chest. Tyler's done this to him before.

Josh licks a long stripe from Jon's hole up to the tip of Jon's cock. Like a tremor passing through him, Jon quivers, toes curling. "Man, that feels good, but keep d-d- _down there_ —yeah, right there."

In one hand, a condom and lube, in the other, a pale blue dildo, Tyler is in high spirits. The smile on their face could shine diamonds. "Yeah, he  _really_  likes it when you apply pressure to his perineum."

"Shut up," Jon mumbles, but it isn't scathing. It's cheerful, almost, happy, laughter in his tone. The shift to moaning and quiet whimpering is sudden enough to notice and not sudden enough to warrant Josh to stop what he's doing. He only stops to get the lube from Tyler.

Tyler says, "Do you need me to hold his legs?"

Josh shakes his head, lowering his head to spit on Jon's hole. "I think he's got it handled right now."

Jon wiggles his toes.

Tyler sinks to the floor, elbows on the cushion next to Jon's hips. They watch. They smile.

Like Josh promised, he's careful with Jon. He starts with one finger, and he's slow with that finger. Inch at a time, Josh keeps his eyes on Jon. When Jon begins to rock, Josh applies more lube and another finger. When Jon begins to moan, Tyler slaps their hand over his mouth. When Jon begins to beg, Josh turns to Tyler and says, "Gimme that toy."

"I don't have a harness or whatever." Tyler passes over the dildo, warm from their hands. Josh stares at it, holding it as if it were a light saber. "It's, like, one of those strapless ones, y'know? You put this end inside you."

"Have you used this before? With someone else, I mean."

"Not really. Mostly just… I do it when I feel particularly dysphoric, and I want to know what it'll look like if I were a cis guy."

"Is that often?" Josh asks, lips twitching into a frown.

"No. Not that often. I've done it once. I thought I looked funny."

"It's because it's that blue color," Jon says, nodding his head and securing his arms around his legs again. "It kinda looks like you're dead, with that color. Not actually dead because it'd be all limp, but… wait, dead bodies are, like, stiff, right? Would—?"

"Maybe you shouldn't finish that thought." Tyler takes the dick back, Josh giving it up easily. "Want me to put this inside you?"

"Yeah."

"Need lube?"

"I'm wet enough, I'm pretty sure."

"Okay."

Jon eyes them as they prepare Josh. Head tilted to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek, Jon gauges the size and width of the toy, no doubt preparing, as well. He keeps his concerns to himself in favor of letting this go as smoothly as possible. After all, even though it's unlikely at this time of night, someone might venture downstairs and spot them on their way to the kitchen or the other bathroom. They need to do this swiftly and carefully, so carefully. Jon's nails are digging into his thighs, deeper with each passing second. Josh wants this to be pleasurable for Jon, and he plans to do an efficient job.

Once the toy rests comfortably against Josh's groin, Tyler procures the condom next, and then the lube, now looking at Jon. "You think you can handle this?"

"I think so." Jon's eyes crinkle when he smiles. "I can try."

"Tell me if something hurts." Josh holds the toy by the base, nudging Jon's legs apart. With the blanket underneath him, Josh doesn't have to struggle to find the right angle inside of Jon. As soon as Josh buries himself to the hilt, Jon shudders and goes, "Do that again."

"I think we should take it easy right now," Josh says.

Tyler tuts. "If he can handle it, go for it. Fuck him."

A glance at Jon, Josh edges his hips back and sends them forward.

Jon smiles, laughs. "Oh, yeah, dude."

Tyler smiles, too.

Jon keeps laughing with each thrust. It isn't loud; it's like soft chimes than anything else. Delicate, disbelief mostly, Jon looks up at the ceiling with wide eyes and says, "God."

"I don't mean to be a  _bother_ ," Josh says, pulling the toy out of Jon, "but this thing keeps slipping, and—"

Tyler and Jon reply at the same time. "It's fine," they both say, and they both smile.

Jon sits up and shoves the blanket to the floor. "I'll be on top."

Tyler and Josh reply at the same time. "Really?" they both say, and they both smile.

Jon is smiling with them, cheeks hot, possibly from embarrassment. "Can't a guy wanna ride his bro's dick with no judgment?"

And now they're all blushing, all laughing, all hiding their faces from each other.

"Yeah, okay." Josh scoots backward to give himself room, to lie flat on his back. Jon pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, making a show of rocking his hips and bouncing his cock against Josh's stomach. Josh shoves him, lightly, of course, and Jon's laughing again, looking behind him to see Tyler with the lube, tipping more of it onto the toy before sliding it inside Josh first, and then him.

"That good?" Tyler asks, rubbing Jon's back.

Jon circles his hips. His teeth press lines into his lips. "Oh, yeah."

"Ride that dick, boy," Tyler says. They return to the carpet, to watch it fully, to enjoy it fully.

Josh grabs Jon's hips, a tad roughly, and buries his heels into the couch cushions. When Jon goes down, Josh goes up, over and over, over and over. One hand clutches the back of the couch while the other tugs on his cock, Jon can't keep his eyes open. He doesn't want to keep his eyes open. He bends, he folds, he leans forward to kiss Josh's mouth, Josh's neck, and with a final arch of his back, Jon comes over his fist, his spunk decorating Josh's groin, a hip, anywhere that clothing doesn't cover. Jon makes sure it doesn't get on any clothing. Stains and the like, Jon is a good guy. He presents his hand for Josh to taste. Josh licks clean his palm while Tyler handles the back.

Panting, bags under his eyes, Jon is tired, but he says, "How do you want to come?"

Tyler's shoving Jon aside, pushing his sweatpants to his chest. "I can do this," they say. "Go to bed."

"I want to  _see_."

Josh spreads his legs, allowing Tyler to pull the toy from his cunt and exchange it with their tongue, with a finger. Just one finger, just one crooked finger and a set of lips around his swollen clit, and Josh spins stars atop his head.

"Bedtime," Tyler says, and helps everybody dress. The last thing they do before leaving the living room is turning off the TV and fixing the curtains from Jon's and Josh's previous prying. Josh catches sight of the snow coating the bottom of the windowsill.

*

"It goes like this," Tyler whispers into the crown of Jon's head. "There was once a little girl who dreamed, one day, she would be a ballerina. She knew how to do a perfect ballerina's bun, and she knew this didn't mean she would become a ballerina, but she considered this a perk.

"She practiced day and night. She wanted to be famous. She practiced with her friends, and then… she grew up, and her mom told her that her shoulders were too broad, her stomach was too pudgy, and her thighs were too fat. She couldn't be a ballerina, but she still wanted to be."

"Did she become a ballerina?" Jon asks, sleepy, drool on the corner of his mouth.

"No, she never became a ballerina. She found herself lost, and she succumbed to her mother's perceptions… They still want to be a ballerina, to this day. Yes, their shoulders are broad, but their stomach isn't pudgy, and their legs look  _amazing_."

Josh laughs.

Jon's laugh is a huff through his nose. "What else?"

Tyler thinks for a moment, glancing at their wrist, at their bracelet. "Butterflies are free. They roam to safe places, to warm places. Some are poisonous."

"That's not as special as the ballerina story."

"You're really gonna hate the next one: cats have nine lives, and are wise beyond their years."

"Shut the fuck up," Jon drones.

The bed frame creaks as Josh sits. Jon stirs at the same time, disguising Josh's movements for only a moment. Even with their back to Josh, Tyler notices Josh leaving. They roll, shifting their body weight to stare at Josh leaving the bed and pulling on clothes. Long johns, jeans, a sweatshirt and a coat, Josh stares at Tyler as he does this.

"I can't run that fast in my dreams," Jon says.

"Yeah?" Tyler slowly turns to Jon again, taking Josh's share of the blanket, rationing it between them and Jon.

Jon looks sick. "Do you know what I tell myself when I'm down?"

"What?" Tyler asks.

"If I knew tomorrow, I wouldn't need faith. If I never fell, I wouldn't need grace. If I knew His plans, He wouldn't be God. Maybe I don't know, but maybe that's okay."

Josh laces his boots.

"That's really beautiful, Jon. Did you make that up yourself?"

Jon snores.

*

Up to his ankles and growing higher by the hour, the sight outside is that from a holiday postcard. Josh's common sense tells him to keep to the porch, where he can easily duck inside if he gets too cold. Despite this, he ventures from Brendon and Sarah's house, hands deep in pockets, covered in two pairs of gloves, one fingerless, one full. Scarf and hat and his body perspiring, he wanders through the dark. His phone weighs down his jeans, the knife from Jon's bag kept in his boot, like Tyler would do. Josh feels safe knowing the metal is on his person, even if he might need to drop to his knees in order to yank it out in defense. He's thankful he didn't have the knife when Ana jumped him. If that were the case, Ana might be gone, and Jon may not have allowed them to stay in his house. Tyler and Josh might be dead.

"Need fresh air," Josh told Tyler, whispering, Jon snoring as background noise.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Tyler tried to touch Josh, but Josh was already heading out the room.

"I'll call if I need you."

Josh thinks the snow is dangerous. It's falling, inhibiting visibility. The streetlights flicker. Josh stands under one that's stable, but after a minute of standing, this bulb begins to blink with the others.

The houses across the street continue to stay lit, proud and bright with their living room lamps and antique porch lights. Some lights are shut off, appearing like dusk-to-dawn lights, but Josh doesn't know why they aren't on. He checks his phone. The screen is responsive, but it doesn't tell Josh the time. It says he has no service, no data, no Wi-Fi. Josh restarts the device.

"Remember when you pissed on my couch?"

It's supposed to be a surprise, but Josh isn't surprised—not entirely. "Hey."

Dressed more appropriately, Adam has another cigarette in his fingers, his skin along with his teeth a yellow color. "Do you remember?" he prods, like it's important, like it matters.

Being cheeky isn't wise. Josh is anyway. "Which time?"

Adam snickers.

Josh rolls his eyes. "What are you doing, Adam?"

"Just… chatting with an old friend."

"We aren't friends."

"I said 'old'."

Josh moves along. "Did you get pushed here because of the storms?"

"Maybe I've been following you this entire time," Adam says, kicking the snow from his feet into the road. "Maybe I never really left you."

Joy's parents followed Tyler and Joy for hours.

"Shut the fuck up," Josh says.

Adam laughs. He brings the cigarette to his mouth. "You're just as funny as the day I met you."

Josh's phone takes a while to start back up. It lights up when it finishes, but it still doesn't tell Josh the time. Frustrated, Josh pushes it deep within his coat pocket.

"How have you been? I've been thinking about you."

"Well, don't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're rude and unforgiving, and you would ignore me for days, and then guilt me into sleeping with you."

Adam smiles. "Yeah, okay."

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to stop doing it. I don't want to see you or touch you or be near you ever again. I was using you, and you were using me. I'm done with you. I've been done with you since you held that knife to my throat."

"What are you talking about? I never held a knife—"

Josh doesn't need to drop to his knees. He's quicker than expected, swift, especially when it comes to his ex. Out of his boot and against Adam's neck, Josh says, "It was  _this_  knife, asshole. Do you remember it now?"

Adam's cigarette falls into the snow, extinguishing, the tip a faint red. "You fucking robbed me, you little bitch. Where's my money?"

"What are you talking about?" Josh pouts. "I never took your money."

"Fuck you."

"You don't get that privilege anymore." Brows raised, lip bleeding from the cold, Josh slowly takes the knife from Adam's throat. "Now, I'm going to go inside, go to bed, and you're going to forget about ever talking or looking at me again."

"Bed?" Adam scoffs. "Who goes to bed at this hour?" Shoulders slumping, Adam sticks his tongue in his cheek. "We're all gonna die, you know."

Josh is cold. "I am going to die. You're right. But you won't get to see that happen."

"What happened to you? You used to be so nice. You were sweet, friendly." Adam touches Josh's chin, stupid enough not to wear gloves in this temperature.

Forceful, Josh strikes Adam's forearm with his elbow. Josh brandishes his knife, the tip poking into Adam's septum. "Take a fucking guess."

"Watch where you're pointing that."

Adrenaline and nobody to tell him to stop, Josh brings the knife up, applying minimal pressure. A thin line sprouts, breaks, and a bead of blood drips from Adam's nostril. Josh narrows his eyes, jaw clenched. "You don't scare me anymore, asshole."

His words are strong, his posture stronger, but as soon as Adam lunges forward, Josh realizes he's a coward. Falling into the snow, Adam on top of him, Josh doesn't even feel the moisture soaking into his back, his legs. He's focused on twisting and turning, trying to shove Adam off him, trying to keep Adam's grabby hands from the knife currently tittering on his fingertips.

"I'll show you scared," Adam hisses, the wind blowing, the snow biting into his cheek. It cuts Josh's lips open, his cheeks, too. It's freezing, but Josh is on fire.

The scuffle is agonizingly slow, their limbs stiff, their layers restricting. Josh hears blood rushing in his ears. All he can see is the overhead streetlamp blinking, and then Adam has the knife. Adam has the knife, and he has it in two hands, and he's bringing it down, down, down.

And Adam chokes. Adam drops the knife, right on Josh's chest, and he fumbles at his neck, fingers pink as they struggle to pry off whatever is constricting his airway. When the light above becomes stable, Tyler comes into view, behind Adam, their incredibly long and incredibly ugly scarf wrapped around Adam's neck.

Tyler yanks, and Adam slides off Josh's body. The snow is dry, yet Tyler slips, Tyler falls, and Tyler drags Adam on top of them. With this angle, they get a sturdier grip. With this angle, Josh can watch the light leave Adam's eyes. Josh almost moans.

Adam's heaving, rocking from side to side. Tyler digs their heels into the snow, their teeth grinding together, harsh. They aren't properly dressed, just in their long johns and Josh's sweatshirt pulled over their "they" tanktop. They have gloves, though, and a hat, and those are essential. They hold on. They can't go. They ran out here. They're here.

Josh wants to cry. He burrows his nose into his own scarf, black, thin, not a weapon. It takes a moment too long, but he finds the knife a foot away from him. He stands to grab it. He stands to fetch. And he stands to stand over Adam's twitching body.

His fits are sporadic.

Tyler looks up at Josh.

Josh sticks the knife into his boot and remains crouching. He watches.

They wait for the body to stop moving, and then some. Losing consciousness is the first step, but they need to press on to ensure he doesn't wake. And he doesn't wake.

Josh cries.

Tyler pushes Adam's body off them, immediately slinging the scarf around their neck. They're shivering, nose running and coating their lips and chin. "Do you feel better?" they ask, getting to their feet, a shivering mess.

Nodding, Josh gets up and hugs Tyler, a shivering mess, too. "I-I—"

"It needed to happen," Tyler says. "It was bound to happen. We've all been on edge. The snow will bury him. He came out here, and the snow smothered him."

They're running. Josh is still crying. "What time is it?" he's asking, yelling. "I want to know when that fucker kicked the bucket."

Inside, the entranceway as hot as the realms of hell, Tyler takes out their phone from the pocket of their sweatshirt. They stare at the screen. They lock their phone, and they unlock their phone. "It… It says it's noon?"

" _What?_  It can't be. It's pitch black outside."

Jon is in the kitchen. He looks even sicker, and now, Tyler joins him. "What's going on?"

Before anyone can answer, Joy appears at the top of the stairs. The Raggedy Ann doll in her arms, she descends, bedhead and Ana claiming the spot at the top of the stairs. "What did you say?"

"Go back to sleep, Joy." Tyler cradles her face.

"How can I sleep if it's noon?" Joy cranes her neck to peep out whatever window is closest. "It's dark outside."

Not needed, needing to lie down, Jon presses his hand to the back of his neck and heads into the bedroom. He drags his feet. He shuts his eyes.

Josh follows.

"Please, Joy," Tyler says, as Josh closes the bedroom door.

"Joy, listen to me. Please,  _please_. Don't go outside."


	11. Snowmen

Josh never considered himself a mother hen. When he went out to parties, he nursed beer and occupied the bathrooms as he heaved and shook the contents of his stomach and beverage into the nearest toilet. Sometimes he wouldn't make it in time. Sometimes he had to bend and toss bile into a potted plant in a hallway. It didn't matter. He had someone to look after him, to rub his back, to hand him another beer.

So, Josh was never the mother hen. He never knew just what his friends would do when he was on his knees and his head halfway down the toilet, but he knows they were good people. Josh wants to be like one of them, though the atmosphere isn't right, and Jon hasn't been drinking.

Josh sits next to Jon, hands fiddling with the hem of his shorts because Jon doesn't want to be touched. Snot running from his nose and his face as pink as a newborn babe, Jon screamed, "Don't fucking touch me," when Josh dared to lay his hand on Jon's lower back. Josh didn't start rubbing yet, but that didn't matter to Jon. No hands, no fingers, Jon wants to be by himself. Josh won't leave him. That wouldn't be right.

"I can get Tyler," Josh says. "They… they're good at taking care of people."  _And feeling like shit._

"Tyler can go—"

"Tyler's here," Tyler says, thin as a dime as they slip through the crack in the bathroom door. Dark circles under their eyes and their bottom lip constantly between their teeth, Tyler busies themself with finding a clean washcloth and pushing it under the stream of water from the faucet. They do this leaning over Josh, Josh too tired to move out of the way. He gets damp from stray droplets escaping the edges of the washcloth. It gets in his hair, rolls down his cheeks. He needs a haircut, a trim.

"Tyler's here," Tyler repeats, lowering to their knees on the other side of Jon. "May I touch you?" they ask, immediately doing better than Josh. Because they were polite, Jon is inclined to be nice. He doesn't yell. He nods, bows his head, and Tyler wipes the back of Jon's neck.

"I think it's, like… it's just all this—"

"You don't have to explain yourself." Tyler runs the cloth up to Jon's face, wiping his mouth, his nose.

"I don't think I can sleep this off," Jon says. "When I get stressed, I overwork myself, and then when it gets too much, I sleep f-for days. I don't think I can sleep this off. I don't think anyone can sleep this off."

Josh hits his head on the sink counter. He shuts his eyes.

Tyler reaches around Jon and grabs Josh's foot. They talk to Jon. "It's going to be okay. It's… the snow. The snow is so heavy the sun just won't come out."

"I heard you out there." Jon waves his hand and flushes the toilet. "You and Brendon were talking, and he said he read online that—"

"Brendon's full of shit. He doesn't know what he's talking about, okay? You need to rest. You, too, Josh. You look tired."

" _You_  look tired, Tyler." Josh feels like he might cry. "Look, I, Tyler, dude, I appreciate everything you've done, but you need to rest."

Tyler shakes their head. They stand, leaving the washcloth in Jon's possession. "It's just been an hour. The sun's going to come out soon. And then… and then…"

"Tyler—"

"Josh, shut up. I don't want to—"

"I don't want to give off the wrong impression when I say this because that's the last thing I want to do, but, Tyler, I think you bled through your pants."

Josh doesn't ask the offending question directly, but it's enough for Tyler—and even Jon—to get what he's putting down. Jon's reaction, obviously, is to be confounded.

"You still get your period?" he asks, and quickly regrets doing so due to the overwhelming exhaustion radiating from Tyler now.

Jon tries to make up for it—"Tyler, shit, I didn't mean—"

But Tyler waves their hand, shaking prominently so. "It's okay." They laugh at this, and then their head joins their hand as it continues to shake. "I haven't kept track of…" They sigh, rub their eyes. "You know what? I thought it would be too much of a hassle for me if I took testosterone shots. I wanted something I could apply every day, so that even if I felt I hadn't been productive at all for that day, at least I did something. It's a routine, and I desperately need a routine in a world like this… I thought applying the gel would be a good way for me to keep track of time because, with the shots, I can barely remember what year it is, so how could I ever remember to take a shot once a week?"

Josh and Jon watch Tyler, neither making a sound.

Tyler drags their hands down their face, letting their arms hang limply by their sides. "I would know if a month had passed easily with my period; that's a good time-keeping device, too. My cycles have always been irregular, though."

*

Before Jon leapt from the bed to expel the nervous toxins from his body, he had Josh curled up next to him, head on his thigh, arms around his knee. Getting untangled from Josh was a challenge, but Jon was vocal. He said, "I think I'm gonna be sick," among the screaming in the living room and kitchen adjacent, and Josh rolled away, and Jon became first place in a mini marathon.

They're both back in the bedroom, the door left open, Jon slouched against the headboard with Josh lying down beside him. Jon looks considerably better, the light from his laptop reflecting a clean bill of health as it bounces off his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Josh's phone is plugged into Jon's laptop, Jon currently scrolling through it. The screaming this time is softer.

"It's been three fucking hours," Brendon says, "and nobody has any fucking idea why the sun fucking disappeared."

"It didn't disappear," Sarah counters. "It wouldn't disappear."

"Then—"

"Shut up!" Joy says, Ana barking to provide back up.

"Do you know what I think?" Jon sets Josh's phone on his chest.

"What do you think?"

"I think the snow's just getting worse, and that's why the sun looks like it's gone. It can't actually be  _gone_."

Josh shrugs a shoulder.

Jon unplugs Josh's phone, passing it over. "Here. It's fixed. I backed it up, restored it to factory settings, and then… y'know… restored it." Josh takes it. "It shows the time now, right?"

Tyler shouts, "I'm trying to watch the news!"

And Brendon responds, "Why don't you get your news from Twitter like the rest of us?!"

"Yeah," Josh says, "and service, Wi-Fi, data…"

"Good." Jon leans over and kisses Josh's forehead.

*

Three more hours, and they're still screaming at each other. At this point, Josh and Jon are thrown within the mix.

All in the living room, sitting in a loose circle, they argue and argue. Josh tries to keep out of it, tries to focus on Tyler in his lap, but Brendon, no matter how many times he's told to shut up,  _doesn't shut up_.

"Brendon, please," Josh says, "we get it. We're just like you. We don't know what's going on."

Brendon's on the floor, sitting across from Jon and Joy with his head in his hands. Sarah is to his left and touching his leg. Her head is turned, eyes on the television screen. Josh and Tyler watch, Josh rubbing Tyler's abdomen, Tyler absently stroking Josh's nipple through his shirt.

A meteorologist talks of the snow.

Brendon says, "They won't talk about the sun disappearing until tomorrow. Maybe two days from now."

Between Jon's legs, Joy decides to humor Brendon. "Okay, so the sun's gone. What does that mean for us?"

"What do you mean?"

Joy rubs Ana's ear with her thumb and forefinger. "We need the sun to live. If the sun's gone, how long do we have until we all die?"

Brendon pales. Sarah closes her eyes.

"You know that, right?" Joy presses. "We're going to die without the sun. We should have realized it was going to amount to this as soon as the fires started."

"Joy's right," Tyler mumbles. Slowly, they stretch out their back, trying to minimize their movements. Josh knows the look on Tyler's face means the slight rocking does nothing to aid their comfort levels. Tyler needs to lie on their stomach, hug a pillow. They need to sleep and not worry about staining another pair of pants.

"Of course I'm right."

"I read about this online," Tyler says, and shoots a look at Brendon. "Norse mythology, Ragnarök—the sun gets eaten, and it reappears after three days. I don't know if it applies here, but… it's out there."

Brendon is silent for a moment, and then—"That's fucking stupid. It's just the heavy snow."

"You're scared they're right," Sarah says.

"Shut up." Brendon pounds his fists into his head. "Shut up,  _shut up_."

Tyler frowns. "I'm sorry. It is just the snow."

"That's what I thought." Brendon is shaking, but he isn't shaking. He isn't strong enough to stand on his own, so Sarah helps him. Brendon is scathing, harsh, and he swats away Sarah's hands and goes upstairs without another word.

Sarah, quietly, says, "We don't have any…  _vices_  that'll help him get through this."

"Whatever," Joy says.

"Food!" Sarah exclaims. "We all need some food. I think we have some frozen pizzas."

*

Time passes slowly. It jumps around, and then it doesn't. Josh checks his phone, and it's eight at night. Josh checks his phone, and it's ten at night. Josh checks his phone, and it's now only eight thirty, and he rubs his eyes.

They're in the bedroom, Jon, Tyler, and Josh. The door is closed because Tyler and Jon are naked, and no one wants to walk in on this. If someone did, they would assume Josh is the third wheel, just here to offer support—and while he is, he's also busy searching for an outlet he could use for Tyler's vibrator. It's hard to do this when he woke from what he hoped would be a delightful slumber, but ended up being a nap that shouldn't have been as long as it was. Josh's head hurts, his eyes burn, and he's in love with everybody on the bed.

Tyler can't sleep. It isn't for lack of trying.

After scoffing down what they were able of the cheese pizza, the inhabitants of the house decided to resort to silence—eager silence. All are waiting. Something is going to happen.

Josh wanted to sleep. Jon wanted to sleep. Joy wanted to play board games with Sarah. Ana chewed on pizza crust. Brendon… Brendon was Brendon.

And Tyler couldn't sleep. Tyler shared the bed with Josh and Jon, and they shut their eyes and clutched their stomach and pretended they weren't experiencing the worst pain imaginable.

Jon wanted to help. He pulled off clothes and went to get a condom, and Tyler reached out and said, "I want you to come inside me," and Jon plans to do just that.

Josh's job was to get a towel. It wasn't exactly a job because there's nothing he didn't want more in the world than to ruin the sheets on the bed in Brendon and Sarah's spare room—a bed Joy might decide to sleep in tonight, if her body allowed her. If they stain a towel, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Josh laughs.

Tyler arches their back, Jon edging inside them. "What're ya laughing for?"

Towel beneath Tyler's hips, legs spread on each side of Jon's hips, Tyler looks as peaceful as someone can be with horrible cramps.

"I was just thinking, like…  _the world is ending_." Plugged in, cord as long as needed, Josh uses his elbow as support as he gets in close, as he presses the tip of the wand to Tyler's clit, as he turns it on.

Before the vibrations get too much for them, Tyler says, "The world will be reborn." And then, Jon has to press his palm to their mouth. They whimper, they curse, and they shudder, shudder, shudder.

"They're fucking clenching around me," Jon says, in disbelief almost, and fucks Tyler faster, deeper, harder.

Tyler gets Jon's stomach wet. They get the towel wet. They get the vibrator wet. And Jon comes inside Tyler, and it drips out of Tyler's cunt to join the spots on the towel.

Josh looks at the vibrator. Jon asks, "Want me to use that on you?" He eases it from Josh's hand.

Josh doesn't bother with undressing. He spreads his legs, and Jon applies even pressure, the vibrator on low.

Tyler holds Josh's hand.

Once Josh comes, he, along with Jon, tidy the room and make it presentable again. Jon toys with the window, debating on opening it. Josh says, "Do it," and Jon does.

"It's snowing," Jon says, "and it's beautiful."

When Joy knocks on the door, they let her in, Ana following. Without Jon's coat, Ana manages to find a spot at the end of the bed to find comfort.

Tyler is fast asleep. Josh lies next to them and hopes their cramps only return after several hours of sleep.

Jon helps Joy get ready for bed. She says she isn't tired, but there's nothing else for her to do. "I'm bored."

"The world's ending, and you're  _bored_." Jon removes Joy's leg and puts on the elastic sleeve.

"Maybe I wouldn't be so bored if there was something here to do."

"This is a new house, and it isn't as furnished as it would be if it had been lived in for years." Jon rubs Joy's thighs, one hand sliding up and one hand sliding down. He alternates absently, talking. "We'll figure out something to do, okay? We have to do something that'll make Brendon happy. Everybody needs to be happy."

Joy pushes her hair behind her ear. She looks at Tyler and Josh. "Is there room for us?"

"Always gonna be room for us."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't pull that metaphorical shit with me."

Jon smiles. "Wasn't metaphorical. We're always going to make sure there's room for us to sleep."

And there is room, if Josh and Tyler fuse into one, and if Joy lies on top of Jon. She sleeps with her face in the Raggedy Ann doll and covered by Jon's handmade blanket. They all sleep in the company of loved ones and a Rottweiler snoring.

*

When the clock winds to nine in the morning, the tremors start.

It's violent enough to knock objects off shelves and rattle the contents of cabinets, but it isn't violent enough to wake Tyler or Josh. They each wake much later—to more tremors and to Brendon screaming.

At first, Tyler doesn't move and neither does Josh. Fingertips roaming along bare shoulders, they lie beneath the blankets and listen to the downfall.

Brendon isn't in pain. He's laughing. In hysterics, he calls for anybody and everybody to hear, "The world is breaking! Don't you see, Joy? The world weeps for the sun to return!"

"Brendon," Joy says, "I think you need to calm down."

Tyler rises into sitting. Josh wants to pull them back to the sheets, but Josh sits up, and Josh touches Tyler's stomach because pulling Tyler into his lap is better than nothing. Save for the two of them, the bedroom is empty, the others spilling out at the first quake. They emerged, frightened, and soon, once it sets in with Tyler and Josh, they will both emerge as frightened as their friends.

For now, Josh neglects his fear, and so does Tyler. They don't talk about it. Josh doesn't ask about it.

Brendon is on the couch, eyes on the television and Joy beside him. She's touching his hands. She's watching him. "Brendon," she whispers, "please—"

He's crying.

Josh stands in the doorway. Tyler comes up behind him to rub Androgel on his shoulders and the backs of his arms. If they forget the chest, then that's okay.

Brendon's crying. "They're talking about it on the news now. I… I think they know we're going to die."

"Hey." Jon is on the other side of Brendon. He touches Brendon's hands. "No one is going to die. Do you want to go outside?" Jon pulls Brendon to his feet. " _Let's go outside_."

"We'll watch at the front door," Tyler says, rubbing the gel onto their shoulders. Jon understands.

Layers and more layers, as soon as Sarah opens the front door, Josh can tell something is off. Sarah notices the shift, as well, and she tries to shut the door, but Jon is persistent. "We have to face our fears," he says, "and go outside."

Because it's supposed to be in the morning, none of the streetlamps illuminate. It's pitch black, the fronts of every little house stained a dim orange from the porch lights. Able to see just as far as across the street, Josh spots snowmen lining every lawn. Like guardsmen, they stand tall, proud, undisturbed by the earthquakes hours before.

Joy says, "We should make our own, so our house is protected, too."

"Don't stray too far," Tyler says, opening the front door for a second. It's cold out there. Josh watches Ana piss on the porch steps and the puddle on the wood freeze.

"We won't!"

Joy thinks it's because it's cold, but it isn't because of that—not entirely. Tyler wants Joy to believe it's because of the cold, and not because of the dead body at the end of the street.

"I never really cared much for Robert Frost," Josh says.

Tyler smiles.

"That's not what I meant to say."

"It's okay."

"I never thanked you for what you did. What you did… it can't be… No matter what I do, I can't possibly thank you enough."

"I thought I would be affected more," Tyler says, arms crossing over their chest. "I thought… killing someone would haunt me, but I think the almost-killings haunt me more. The possibilities, the  _What If_ s… that's all gone when you kill someone. Not completely because there are obvious questions: what would have happened if I didn't kill him, if I didn't show up? I don't like thinking of scenarios like that because I know they all end in death— _your_  death." Tyler looks ahead. Joy is on Jon's shoulders, laughing, grinning. "I had this dream last night. The sun came out of the clouds at the wrong time of day, and the entire world had to readjust their schedules. If you thought you heard me laughing in my sleep, you were right."

Josh wraps an arm around Tyler's waist.

"If they somehow connect us to that fucker's death, we can claim self-defense. I might jeopardize any chances of Joy staying with me, but you'd be okay. You need to be okay."

Josh shushes Tyler.

"I had another dream," Tyler says, voice rising to counter Josh's hushing. "It was magical. When the snow melted, everything was okay underneath it. All the destruction, the ruins—gone. Jon's house was in one piece. I know that won't happen, but it was a terribly nice dream."

"It might happen."

"Yeah." Tyler leans their head against Josh's. "It might."

No arms and fists for eyes, the snowman on their front lawn is smaller than the others, but it's sturdy and a guardian. Brendon takes a selfie with it. Joy laughs even harder.

"Do you think we'll be all right?" Tyler asks.

"I don't know," Josh says.

Once they come inside, Brendon makes hot chocolate. Shivering messes with snot frozen on their faces and blue lips, it was too cold. A minute longer—and Josh doesn't want to think of it.

"Did you see the snowman, Mommy?"

Tyler lifts Joy and spins her. "Yes, I did! It was so cute."

"And strong."

Tyler kisses Joy's nose. "Cute  _and_  strong."

*

Another earthquake cuts through the neighborhood that evening.

Jon says, "Avalanches." And then, he shakes his head and says, "Forget what I said."

*

On the third day, their bodies stay in bed all day while their minds wander into the snowmen. Their bodies stay in bed, and yet they explore the world around them, hating the sun, adoring the dark.

*

That night, Josh walks into the living room to Tyler crying into the front of Jon's shirt. At the sound of Josh's footsteps, Tyler tears themself away, scooting to the other side of the couch, far away from Jon. They retreat into themself, tucking into a ball, dissolving into the cushions.

Jon looks at Josh. "You, too? I can see it on you."

Josh woke sick to his stomach. Josh woke terrified. Josh woke the same as Tyler.

They're reverting to how they were before—messy, messy, wanting things back to normal.

Josh can tell by the look on Jon's face Tyler told him about Adam. Jon even says, "I don't think of you any differently."

And because Josh's psyche is allowing him to understand the gravity of the situation, he drops to his knees and slides, slides, slides to Jon, crying into his lap.

Tyler says, "I don't think I can keep this up any longer. I thought I could pretend to be happy, but I can't do this."

Tyler says, "The plants will die first, and then the animals."

Tyler says, "We need heat. We need to breathe underwater."

Tyler says, "I love you both. I love you guys so damn much, and it was nice knowing you."

Jon helps Josh to his feet, and he pulls Tyler to their feet. In a circle, Jon holds Josh's hand in his left and Tyler's in his right. The moonlight is unfiltered as it shines and glimmers.

"Do you know what my mother used to say to me?" Jon turns them, his shoulders rocking from side to side. "Whenever I felt lost in the universe, she told me not to lose faith. She said my life was in the hand of God."

Tyler tilts their head back, chin up, eyes closed. They're crying.

Josh is crying.

Joy peers into the living room, and Sarah and Brendon join her.

"It's not just me," Brendon says. "You feel it, too."

Jon shakes his head. He doesn't cry. There are tears in his eyes, but he dares not cry. "We're going to be okay," he says. At this point, not even he can believe it.

*

The fourth day passes.

The fifth day follows.

They wear layers around the house. Their noses are always a faint red color.

Tyler doesn't want to be touched. Joy stays close. She hasn't cried. She's strong.

On the sixth day, the news reporters begin to joke about how welcoming the fires would be. On the sixth day, the meteorologists don't show up for work.

Jon is still acting hopeful on the sixth day. "Come on," he says, the only one standing in the living room. In the middle, rotating, not even Ana can bring herself to wag her tail or perk her head at her owner.

Joy stands. She's wearing a large sweatshirt, one of Tyler's, and one of Jon's baseball caps. She needs warmth. She needs sustenance. "What is it?"

"Dance with me."

Joy holds Jon's wrists. "Okay."

Back and forth, side to side, they twist their hips and rock on their heels. Jon sings. Josh thinks he recognizes it from somewhere.

A movement starts. Sarah gets to her feet, and she brings Brendon to his feet. They dance, and Brendon sings, and Josh wants to dance.

He tries. He tugs on Tyler's fingers, and Tyler doesn't want to get up, but they get up, and Josh dances, and Tyler sings.

Jon is the background noise. Brendon is the limelight. And Tyler is the harmony.

If Josh does this for long enough, he forgets how cold he is.

*

For the seventh day, Josh notices Jon doesn't want to move. He stays in bed, staring at the wall. His eyes move. He whispers, "I think I'm fine with dying if I die with my family."

No one has showered. The cold keeps down the smell.

It's supposed to be spring. The sun is supposed to be out.

Josh sets his hand on Jon's chest. "I think I'm fine with that, too."

*

And on the eighth day, Joy says, "Mom—Mommy, I want to go outside."

"Let me get dressed," Tyler says.

Joy doesn't wait. She turns, she walks, and she opens the front door.

Tyler says, "Joy."

But Joy closes the front door behind her.

"Josh, come with me," Tyler says, and they run, and Josh follows.

The house is asleep. The street is asleep.

It's freezing, and no one has the proper gear.

"Please," Tyler says, because pleading is all everybody knows.

In front of the snowman, Joy is luminescent.

Tyler isn't wearing shoes. "Joy, baby, it's not safe out here."

"It's easier like this." Joy spreads her arms and falls, flies, an angel.

Tyler runs, kicking up the snow, freezing the goosebumps on their legs. Screaming at the top of their lungs, Tyler now pleads with Joy. "Get up," they say. "Joy, you're going to freeze. Joy, Joy—Josh, help me."

Stretched out, her hair fanned out like a halo, Joy watches the stars disappear.

"Maybe it  _is_  easier like this," Josh muses. "If we're going to die anyway, why can't we go out on our own terms?"

Tears stick to Joy's cheeks.

Tyler covers their face. They can't shiver anymore. They can't speak anymore. They can't deny anymore.

"I don't want to die," Joy whispers, teeth chattering, "but being with you would be a pleasant way to go."

"You're just a fuckin' kid. You don't know what you're talking about." Tyler can't move.

Josh's knees buckle. He hears Ana bark from inside the house.

Joy slowly closes her black holes for eyes. "You're right. I'm just a fuckin' kid."

As Sarah and Brendon race downstairs, as Jon rubs Ana's ears, as Josh forgets how to breathe, as Joy forgets with him, as Tyler wails into their cracked palms, the sun appears in the sky.

It's like a quiet pop, the first piece of corn in a bag of popcorn transforming. It's like a blink, a swallow, a shiver.

It's like how it's supposed to be.

The neighbors gather on their porches, phones recording their surroundings. They talk and squeal, and some step into the snow on their lawns, and some jump into the snow. "It's warm," they say.

Joy cries. Hard, hiccupping, she sobs, rattling, resonating. "This feels like  _home_."

They keep to the snow. Nobody notices how, slow like slugs, they deflate and settle to the healthy grass and plentiful flowers beneath.

Tyler thaws. Joy floats. Embracing, squeezing, crying and crying, Tyler buries their face in Joy's hair. "Home should always feel like this."

Ana's muzzle digs under Josh's thigh. Jon's there, shorts and sleeveless shirt and no shoes and not feeling cold at all. His hands are soft. Josh throws his arms around Jon's neck. He doesn't talk. They don't need to talk.

No one needs to talk.

The sun is bright.

The sun shines.

The snowmen melt.


	12. Would Suffice

Adam's body is gone.

Once home to a monster with human features, the grass is green and spotted with flowers. Still sproutlings, budding into delicate pinks and soft yellows, the flowers are a field that stretches across lawns to disguise the frost and death that ranked the ground just yesterday.

It should have taken days for the snow to melt. Josh stepped out this morning and saw life-sustaining nature.

When the sun came into the sky, tears never stopped, and those who were isolating themselves to the inside of their brick houses, they haven't dared to step foot inside. It won't be long until neighbors place grills on porches, host parties, drink, and sing.

But no one jumps to that yet.

Despite the sun on their skin, Josh, Tyler, and Joy went into the house. Jon was holding Josh; he couldn't stop. He couldn't let go of Josh. Josh didn't know how to walk. It felt wrong to walk after freezing nearly to death.

They all stood in the living room, touching, holding hands. The meteorologists were here again, and they were crying, they were praising God, praising whoever allowed this to happen.

"Thank you, thank you,  _thank you_."

One meteorologist, with pink eyes and snot on their face, said, "I don't want to get anyone's hopes up because this might all come crashing down in the next day or the day after that, but I think the worst is over."

No one stayed inside the house. They couldn't stay inside. Even with the snow, the world was warm. No layers, no more layers, they welcomed the sweat and the body odor. They can shower later. They can settle down later.

It was strange to see the sun set for the day, but it rises in the morning all the same, as if nothing had happened.

Josh is the first to wake. Early and not too early, he slips out from under Jon, easy to do when Jon is a bear, hibernating in peace. Josh caught Tyler's eyes on his way out, so to find Tyler sinking to the grass beside him isn't surprising at all.

The sun's to Josh's left, barely in his eyes. Tyler is to his left, too, slowly reaching forward to touch the ground where Adam used to lay. Their fingers fall through the flowers, the thin stems serving as rings, as more charms on their bracelet.

"Maybe it was magic," Tyler says, breathless. They blink several times and dig their teeth into their bottom lip.

Josh watches blood begin to bead. "Yeah, maybe."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

"That's good." Tyler pulls their hand from the flowers. They smile.

"I was never going to marry him. I think that was our problem."

There isn't even an impression where a body could have lain.

"Can you see yourself marrying someone now?" Tyler sits with their legs underneath them, leaned forward slightly, palms pressed to their thighs. Because it's warm and because they just rolled from bed, they're touching bare skin, hairy skin, exposed skin from where their shorts ride up. And because it's warm and they just rolled from bed, they didn't bother putting on a shirt. If Tyler twists a certain way, the sunlight reflects off the rings through their nipples, makeshift pasties.

Josh wants to undress and take Tyler in this field of flowers. He says, "I don't think I'm allowed to marry two people."

Tyler laughs.

"No, really, if you know some kind of loophole that'll work with us, then lemme in on it."

"I'm sorry. I don't know. Bigamy… that's illegal, but there's nothing stopping us from doing everything but officiating it."

"Are you insinuating something?"

A quirk of their lips, Tyler stands on falling-asleep legs and dusts themself free of grass. "Depends on your and Jon's preferences when it comes to wearing rings." They hold out their hand and help Josh to his feet.

"Jon looks like a ring guy."

"And you?"

Josh shrugs a shoulder. He's trying to play it off, like it's no big deal, but Tyler sees right through him. They shove Josh and walk back to the house, their arms slowly coming up to cross over their chest. It may be early. The sun did just come back into their lives, and that is enough evidence to suggest someone might step outside and see Tyler's chest and be offended by their small breasts.

Josh steps closer, bumping his arm into Tyler's arm. "I might be a ring guy, too."

Tyler's smile is about as bright as the sun. "That's pretty cool."

*

Weather influences mood. Today's going to be a good day.

"As long as it doesn't get disgustingly hot…" Brendon slides sunglasses onto his nose. "Is everybody ready?"

All dressed, all rested, all alive—"Yes."

Brendon snaps. "Then let's go."

*

They drive with the windows down because they can't get enough of the sun.

*

The good weather forces emigration. The sky is sanctuary to helicopters.

No sleeves, matching sunglasses, the other travelers have similar minds. Cars pumped full of gas and remembering to follow speed limits now, families and couples and the lone straggler crowd the streets, the highways, even the narrow, winding country roads. As far as the sunlight touches, life makes its home.

Brendon has his feet kicked up onto the dash. "I just want to see," he says, scooting over to prop his elbow on the windowsill. "It doesn't feel right, yeah? I can't be the only one who thinks this doesn't feel completely right."

"Maybe it's magic," Josh says. He makes eye contact with a little boy hanging from the window of his mothers' sedan. He waves. He's missing most of his teeth.

"Magic." Brendon doesn't laugh. He doesn't poke fun. He nods, and he says, "It might be."

Once they stepped back into the house that morning, Brendon was in the kitchen, drinking milk from the gallon jug. "Hey," he told them, not batting an eye at Tyler's state of undress. "We should go back to our apartment. Just to see."

Sarah was there in a heartbeat to remind Brendon what was important. "We also need to get the rest of our stuff, since we  _are_  moving."

Brendon points. "Right."

And then, Jon was there. "Dude, we should check out my house."

And then, and then, Joy was there, hands on her hips. "I'm coming."

Much to her confusion, Tyler answered Joy with an affirmative. "Of course you're coming with us. Lemme, like… put on that gel and find a shirt."

"What kind of magic do you think it is?" Brendon asks the car, rocking his foot to the beat of a song only he can hear.

"Maybe…" Joy taps her chin. "Maybe it was just Mother Nature. Maybe she thought we learned our lesson."

Jon is in the backseat with Ana. Ana barks to show her support of Joy's theory, and Jon laughs to show his. "We need to find out what happened to the rest of the world."

"There's supposed to be a press conference this evening," Sarah says. "Maybe the president will address that."

"What a fucking jackass," Brendon mumbles.

Tyler hides their face in their hands, trying to muffle their laughter. Josh muffles his in Tyler's hair.

For the duration of the trip back to their apartment complex, no one yells, no one cries, and no one brandishes a pair of scissors. They are at ease.

The parking lot is full. The sedan with the little boy goes here, too, and Sarah does her best to seem like she wasn't following them. She slows down, pushes the car to a crawl, but when it comes to finding an empty parking spot, the only available one is next to the sedan. The family is already out, bags on their backs, smiles on their face. They're home.

"My truck's still here," Tyler says.

"My Beetle's next to it," Sarah says.

"Fuck," Brendon says. "Fuck,  _fuck_." He leaps from the car. Feet not touching the ground, he runs across the parking lot, past couples and families loitering, catching up, enjoying the sun, and he shoves past them all to jump onto the back of a man standing with his own family—his wife, two kids.

"Shit," Josh hears the man say. Josh watches him raise his hands and touch Brendon's arms around his neck. And somehow that's enough for him, for his knees almost buckle, his head hangs low, and he chants under his breath. Josh doesn't need to know what he's saying.

"Dallon," Brendon's saying, returning to the ground, to his own two feet. He's spinning Dallon and touching Dallon's face, arching to the balls of his feet to kiss Dallon's forehead.

"We could totally try to get Dallon and Breezy into a house next to us," Sarah says, shrugging. "Was that house at the end of the street empty?"

"It's empty now," Josh says, earning himself a nudge from Tyler and a flick in the ear from Jon. "Hey," he says, but Tyler pops their finger in their mouth, and Josh gets out of the car with wide eyes and laughing his head off.

Brendon doesn't look away from Dallon, doesn't stop touching Dallon. No matter Dallon's family and no matter Sarah and the rest of them approaching, Brendon keeps his hands on Dallon's shoulders. "I was so worried I wouldn't see you again, man."

"I'm glad you're okay, too," Dallon says. "Mark and Skye came back. Mark texted me this morning. Weird how we all decided to return at the same time."

"It didn't make sense to stay," Brendon says. "Sure, we could have waited until tomorrow or the day after, but the sun—"

"It's calling for us," Tyler finishes.

Joy rolls her eyes. "You guys are stupid. Hey, Amelie. Hey, Knox. I have a dog now."

"That is a big dog," Breezy says.

"I know," Jon says, sighing. "I told her to stop growing, but she wouldn't listen."

Sarah cuts through with a frown. "As much as I hate to say it, but let's go inside. The sun will be here later."

And it is. It shines.

*

Up in Tyler's little apartment, as if nothing had scathed it at all, Tyler sits on the couch with Joy in their lap and says, "We need a house."

On the floor, stretched out and using Ana as a pillow, Jon is in control of the TV remote. He flips, surfs. He says, "I know it's bad to get my hopes up, but this damn place doesn't look destroyed at all, even with all the water damage we saw when we left—no cracks, no flooding. So, like… we could totally live in my house."

Tyler is quiet.

Curled into Tyler's side, mindful of Joy's legs, Josh is not so quiet. He doesn't want to be the one to say it. He parts his lips.

Jon already knows. "I know," he says, and searches through the channels again. "It's wishful thinking."

"Wishing thinking your house is undamaged. Not wishful thinking we'll move in with you." Josh stares at Jon, scanning him as he sucks in a breath and holds it. "We'll stay with you, Jon, and you'll stay with us."

"Okay." Jon is blunt because he's struggling to compose himself.

Tyler rubs Joy's back. "D'ya think Brendon and Sarah would want to watch the press conference with us?"

*

They need all the room they can get, so they go to Mark and Skye's apartment—complete with a big screen TV and enough comfortable seating for everybody on the third floor. Despite this, Jon sits on the floor, with Ana, and Joy sits with Jon, so as to not make him feel left out.

Tyler is on the couch behind Joy, twisting her hair into a French braid.

At the end, perched on the arm of a recliner, Brendon, eyes on his phone, says, "We don't even know what this idiot is about to lie about and there's already people demanding his resignation."

Tyler smiles, leaning into Josh. Josh touches Tyler's back. "Are you complaining, Brendon?" they ask.

Brendon shakes his head. "Hell no. It'd be better if he were dead, but getting him out of office is the next best thing."

"But his VP," Dallon says.

Again, Brendon dismisses this. "That one's a robot. They'll hand the controls to the other party."

"I'm going to be president one day," Joy says.

Brendon grins. "I'll vote for you, kid."

The conference starts on time, and it opens with booing. It doesn't stop. For a full minute, the leader of their country stands there and tries to act as if it isn't getting to him. Hands gripping the podium, face red, hair askew, he opens his mouth and closes his mouth and opens his mouth. "I resign," he says, and now there's shouting—it's unclear the emotion behind it. The man behind the podium, just a man now, takes a step back and begins to walk away, but the people occupying the stage with him forces him forward. Their own faces are red, but it's more of anger and not embarrassment.

"Get up there," another man says, to the best of Josh's lip-reading ability, "and tell them what you did."

And he does confess, after many stammerings and off-topic snides. He confesses to not doing anything, to not  _wanting_  to do anything. Obviously he tries to play it off like he was scared—"I'm still a human like you"—but the faces around him only grow angrier. He continues, though, and he confesses to hiding in a bunker, to ignoring the world around him because he says he was allowed to do that.

Then, a woman screams at him. "Don't you fucking care your daughter died during the flooding?!"

But she's escorted out.

And another woman screams, "A fucking sinkhole swallowed your son!"

But she's escorted out, too.

And he confesses to keeping the country ignorant, to not detailing the horrific events playing out in other parts of the world; it's like what Jon offhandedly wondered—tsunamis in Japan and avalanches in Nepal, and much more. Josh barely catches any detail before the audience begins to shout again.

Eyes wide, Brendon is standing. Mark is next to him, equally as outraged. To be fair, everybody in the room is pissed, even the children. They don't need to be grown up to know something is completely and utterly fucked.

Tyler has to stop playing with Joy's hair. They drop their head in their hands. Josh keeps rubbing their back.

"This asshole never fucking cared about us," Brendon says. "He deserves every bad thing that's coming to him. He shouldn't be allowed to resign. He needs to fucking fix this. He can't possibly think we'll all just  _go back to normal_."

When it comes down to it, it seems that's exactly what the entire world wants its inhabitants to do; there's no evidence of anything having gone awry—so far. The skies are blue, the grass is green, and as far as the eye can see, there is not even a whiff of destruction. But Josh holds his tongue until they see Jon's house. The town before it, the fires there, and later on the tornados, all of that may still claim the land.

Brendon is still standing, the only one standing now. His shoulders slump, and he slowly furrows his brow, frowning, confused, piecing together the parts that will never make sense. " _Could_  everything go back to normal?"

Knox scoots over to Jon and Ana. "Can I pet her?"

Jon smiles. "Sure."

Ana rolls onto her side.

"I don't know, Brendon," Sarah says.

On stage, reporters and cabinet members surround the man who is simply a man. He disappears. Josh doesn't want to see him again.

Tyler turns their head. They look at Josh, head propped with their fists. Lips pressed together, Tyler doesn't need to say anything for Josh to know what they're thinking.

Josh kisses Tyler's temple.

*

No amount of praying or pleading will ever make things return to normal.

Sometime between two and three in the morning, when Tyler digs their teeth into Josh's side, Joy wakes screaming.

Tyler is gone within seconds, skidding into the wall as they round the corner to the bedroom. From the couch, trying to settle down before moving, Josh listens to Jon explain to Tyler how he didn't know what happened, please believe him, she just woke up.

"Joy, baby," Tyler says, "talk to me."

Tears in her eyes and in her throat, she sniffs, doing her own form of trying to settle down. Josh takes this time to fix his shirt and make his way into the bedroom. He makes eye contact with Ana, the big dog standing alert by the foot of the bed. Jon's sitting up, blanket tossed away, the sleeves of his shirt shoved to his elbows. Tyler's clutching Joy, rocking her back and forth.

"Please," Tyler whispers.

"I had a dream the fires came back, and then the rain started, but the rain didn't put it out. We all—"

"Don't think about that." Tyler squeezes her.

Jon waves his hands at Josh, a nonverbal invitation to lie on top of him.

Carefully, they all plan to sleep—Jon and Joy returning, and Tyler and Josh starting. Josh forgets about how wet he is and the bite marks along his torso. Jon's hands roam, but they're not coaxing, just gentle, soothing, a lullaby. Jon hums.

They sleep.

*

Josh has nightmares, too. Jon's face may be dry, and he may appear refreshed, but Jon can tell what transpired in Josh's mind.

"We need another bed," Jon says, as a joke to lighten the mood, but Josh's stomach continues to churn.

Tyler's up with them, fighting the remnants of a dream. The shower next door runs. The sun shines. "I think we should go check out your house today," Tyler says. "Y'know, I, uh… I think… Would it be big enough for all of us?"

Neither Josh nor Tyler had a tour of the place during their visit, but Jon wasn't quite in a position to give them one. Josh saw the living room and the basement, and Tyler took a trip to the bathroom. All what they had seen seemed good enough. Josh felt safe in the basement, and he felt safe lying on that couch with his leg throbbing. It might have been the walls and roof, or it might have been something more—intention, a good intention. When the fires first broke out, and when Josh first went out to explore the world around him, he camped out in houses that could never be homes. But Jon's house, that was a home.

Josh pushes himself into sitting.

"There's room," Jon says. "Basement, living room, full kitchen, one and a half bath, three bedrooms—there's room."

"What about schools? Do you know anything about the school system nearby?"

"Sounds like I'm on a show about real estate." Jon runs his hands through his hair, hands sliding down to scratch at his cheek. "I guess it's okay. Couldn't you just send Joy to her old school?"

"Need to figure out travel time."

"Maybe we'll be able to take a week off from the real world," Josh says. "We can rest while the world rests. Start up again next week or next month."

"Josh," Tyler says, soft, and means to continue if not for Joy calling for them.

Jon gets up, glancing at Tyler. No words are necessary. Tyler nods, and they return to Josh. Jon closes the door behind him.

"Yeah?" Josh slowly narrows his eyes.

"Lie back down—with me." Tyler pulls the blankets over their body and slides closer to the middle of the bed. Their gaze is expectant. Josh crawls. Tyler lets go of the blankets, no more pulling on them, pulling on Josh, pulling him on top of them. "Go to sleep," they whisper, "and dream a better dream with me."

"You're so fucking—"

"I know." Tyler wraps their arms around Josh's neck. They squeeze and squeeze, and Josh kisses Tyler's mouth. Open mouths, messy, they can't pick back up where they left off the night before. Joy and Jon are talking in the hallway, something about breakfast.

Josh sets his head on the pillow next to Tyler's head. Both pairs of eyelids hooded, lips parted to show off the tiniest hint of teeth, they stare at each other, and they breathe.

And Jon pokes his head into the room.

"Give us an hour," Tyler tells him, fingers curling to cradle the back of Josh's head.

Jon shuts the door.

*

Tyler is the one to tell Brendon they're leaving.

"I don't know if we're coming back."

At this point, they're expecting to see Jon's house unscathed.

Bags and boxes in arms, Joy helps the best she can. She's carrying what's left of the food in a tote bag. She says it's the most important thing here. Nobody could argue with her.

"Hey," Brendon says. "We just need to load some more shit in our car. We can leave together."

It's warm again, but that isn't a surprise. Not as warm as it was last year, Josh wonders if global warming reversed and if the planet reset. A catalyst for this change should have been an Ice Age, he figures, but he remembers the snow, the dark, the eight days without the sun, and then Josh understands.

Tyler has to drive; that's a given. Since they're heading to Jon's house, it's also a given for Jon to ride shotgun.

"I'll ride in the back," Josh says, as Tyler makes sure the cap of the truck bed is secured down. "I can keep Ana company."

"And me," Joy says. "I want to sit in the back. Can I?" She quickly adds, "Please," and a smile.

Tyler is lenient. Tyler is always preparing for the worst. "Keep an eye on Josh," they tease.

Joy salutes. "Will do!"

Tyler and Jon work on filling the cab of the truck with as much as possible, to keep the back empty for Josh, Joy, and Ana. They're here already, sitting across each other and leaning against the sides of the truck bed. Ana sits beside Josh, watching her owner and one of his partners. Truth be told, Tyler didn't need to pack a lot—mostly clothes, some CDs, their old ukulele. Most of the furniture came with the apartment, and then the rest, Tyler is letting the landlord keep for the next set of tenants.

Joy slings her panda pack onto her lap and draws out a small bag of animal crackers. Without an affirmative, she passes it to Josh. Josh takes it, holds it, mumbles his thanks.

Tyler shows up. They ask, "Are you guys ready to go?"

Joy is all smiles.

Josh tries his best to smile.

To see Tyler mirror the expression is heartbreaking. "Right." They give Josh's shoulder a rub. "I'll go slow. Hold on tight, okay?"

"Got it." Joy moves toward Josh, the blanket she's sitting on long enough for Josh and Ana's torso, if Josh and Joy sit with their thighs parallel to their chests. They do.

The parting isn't nearly as emotional as their others. It's simple to figure out why; no one is heading to an early grave.

Now behind some clouds, the sun isn't harsh. The sun is kind. The trees are waving.

Josh breaks into the animal crackers as they're going down the highway.

Joy absently twists her hair in her hands, taking a dark strand to weave between her fingers. "You're not okay."

"No, I'm not okay." Josh should have lied. Everything points to him needing to lie, but he can't. He doesn't. He says, "I'm not okay, but I will be."

"I'm not okay either," Joy admits. "I don't think I ever was. It's not Tyler's fault. It's not your fault. It's…" She shakes her head. "But… I'll be okay, too."

A lion in his hand, a lion's head in his mouth, Josh says, "You wanted to die in the snow, or by some… odd chance, you knew something was going to happen. You knew the sun was going to come back, but you… I don't know what I'm saying." He sighs and takes out another cookie, another lion. "It would have been so much easier if we froze to death."

"Giving up is easy, but what's more rewarding?"

"The sweet release of death."

Joy frowns.

Josh wipes his fingers free of cookie crumbs. "Don't worry about me, Joy. I'm just…"

"You're not okay."

"But I will be."

"But you will be." Joy looks from the small window of the back of the truck to Ana, and then to Josh. She doesn't look away from Josh. "What sounds more likely—I'm some kind of divine being or an all-seeing robot, or I was as tired as you guys?"

Josh's smile is genuine. "A robot."

Joy needs to laugh. Like Josh lying, laughing should be applied to this situation. They're supposed to be laughing and lying and making the world seem all right. But Josh didn't lie, and Joy doesn't laugh. She turns her head and watches the houses in the distance grow smaller, the trees grow bigger. She pushes her hair behind her ears. "Yeah."

Josh angles the bag of animal crackers toward her. She eats a camel. "I am a robot," Joy says. "My mom said so, and my mom is very smart."

" _Part_  robot," Josh says.

"You remember."

"Of course I do."

Joy laughs now.

Josh lets Joy finish the rest of the cookies. He stares at the truck's back window, hard to see inside exactly because of the tint. The outlines are visible. Jon talks with his hands, pointing. Sharp, the truck leans as Tyler takes a corner. Joy tips to the side. She slumps against Josh, her cheek to his shoulder. She doesn't move. Josh doesn't want her to move.

"I take it back, Josh," she says. "You can actually grow a pretty decent beard."

Josh's arm around her torso is casual. He holds her close, squeezing at a bump in the road. "Thank you, Joy." Carefully, he sets his hand on Ana's flank. She jumps at another imperfection in the road.

In the cab, Tyler says, "I'm sorry." It's loud enough for them to hear. The windows are rolled down. It's hot, but not unbearably hot. It's comfortable. Tyler says, "I'm sorry," again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Ana bites at the air.

*

The neighborhood in front of them is how a neighborhood should be. The buildings stand tall. Each brick house has a car in the driveway and green grass on their lawns. Josh wants to cry from how beautiful it looks. Once captured by fire damage and unsightly, conservative residents, the people they pass are smiling, waving, laughing. Josh sees a cat, and it's well-fed and spying a butterfly above its head.

Josh can hear Tyler talk from here. They ask Jon, "Is there an easier way to get to your house? I really don't want to have to park and go through that forest."

"Oh, yeah," Jon says. Arm hanging out the passenger-side window, cigarette burning in his first, Jon says, "Just follow this road here, and you'll be in the town over. You know where my house is from there, yeah? On the outside. 'Outside'? What the fuck?  _Outskirts_. Outskirts of town, like some kind of cowboy."

Joy already has on her panda pack in anticipation, playing with the straps.

Josh watches her. "Are you… excited?"

"I guess. Does it look like it's going to rain?"

"Maybe. The clouds are dark over there." Josh frowns. "It needs to rain, Joy. We can't have a drought."

"I don't think I'm ready to sleep by myself yet."

"We'll be here for you, sweetheart. You have three people—no, four of us. Ana can sleep with you, too. We're—"

"Everything's going to fucking fall apart," Joy says. "It's going to rain, and it's going to flood—and even if it doesn't, I'm going to lose you. I'm going to—"

"No," Josh says, interrupting, harsh. The truck bounces, and that's it.

Joy says, "Okay."

The next town over is put together. Josh and Tyler weren't able to explore this neighborhood before or after the storm cut through, but it wouldn't be difficult to assume the town would have been in a state of ruin due to the twisters—if twisters  _had_  ripped it apart. Josh can't tell.

Tyler drives slowly.

Ana stands. Tail wagging and shifting her weight from each of her front paws as if she were an eager person, she recognizes the area around her. Jon may have taken her for walks on these streets, might have even taken her grocery shopping with him. Trips to the park, adventures between companions, Ana wants it all now.

So fucking loud, Jon laughs. "Wait back there, girl. We're almost there."

Ana grows more excitable when they get closer, her lips parting and tail swishing faster. She begins to bark at the appearance of Jon's house, bouncing as she does so. The truck rocks from this, and Josh doesn't have enough time to more before she's leaping from the truck and running the rest of the way to the house.

Joy blinks.

Jon's laughing.

Josh shakes his head.

And Tyler, behind the wheel, says, "How can this still be standing?"

Jon shushes them. "It's magic," he says, and doesn't wait for Tyler to pull into a parking spot before he, too, jumps from the truck and runs the rest of the way.

"So, this place was destroyed?"

Josh takes Joy's hand. "Roof fell in, windows busted, barely standing at all—it was completely destroyed."

Tyler pulls into a driveway, empty, and doesn't move.

Josh waits for them to make a move. Trembling, biting into his lips, Josh turns to Joy. He keeps her hand in his. "You're ready to get out, aren't you?"

"I guess." But she doesn't move either. She's scanning the house, the window that Jon had to throw a trash bag over because the glass broke, the driveway itself and the oil spot Tyler parked crooked to miss. Jon has an answer for that when he returns from the house. The front door is open. He keeps it open for Ana, who paces the house, who sniffs everything, who never stops swinging her tail.

"My car was in the shop before all this," Jon says. "It would be so fucking sick if it was still there. Dude"—he leans on the truck bed, his head on his arms—"my house—it's fucking gorgeous. I don't know what happened or  _how_ , but everything is there. It's like nothing touched it."

Tyler walks on steady, flowered feet. "That's good." They're scrutinizing the house as suspiciously as Joy. It's different with Tyler; Tyler was there. Tyler knows what to look for, and so does Josh. Tyler sees it at the same time, but Josh is the one to bring it to Jon's attention.

"Someone's in that room. I saw, like, half a face before they dropped the curtain."

As if she heard this exchange, Ana circles into the house. It doesn't take long for her to start barking at the strangers, and it doesn't take long to gather the courage to leave the truck and venture into the house.

Because it was his house to begin with, Jon follows Ana into the house, and Tyler walks after with Joy and Josh pulling up the rear. Joy hasn't let go of Josh's hand. Done almost absently, she squeezes Josh's hand in time with a heartbeat. She doesn't act scared, just curious. Eyes wide, on tiptoe, Joy wants to see who's cowering in the corner of the bedroom. But Tyler is tall, and Jon is even taller. She shifts her weight and tries to shove Tyler lightly out of the way. "Lemme," she starts, and Tyler says, "Oh, oh,  _oh_ ," because the two men in the back bedroom aren't complete strangers. Seen at a grocery store and last spotted without a trace besides an old van, Brad and Mark occupy a corner in the room. As soon as they see a familiar face—Tyler, at that—they relax. And then, Ana barks, and they're cowering again.

Jon slaps a hand over Ana's mouth and drops to his knees. He whispers something in her ear.

Tyler says, "I can't believe you guys are okay. Holy crap, we found your van in that pond. It was empty, but…  _damn_."

"We got our shit out before it rolled too far," Brad explains. "We lost control, got spooked a little."

"He's lying. We were totally fine. Not scared at all," Mark says.

"Oh, right. Yeah. We didn't get scared."

Mark takes over. "When it started snowing, we came back to see if our van was still there. Found your note, then, and my phone. It was trashed. And then, like… the sun came out, and it was okay again."

"We saw this house," Brad says. "We felt kinda bad it was destroyed as it was, but—"

"We just literally came back here," Mark says. "Like, it was just an hour or so before you guys showed up. We went to check on our van again because everything else seemed to be okay. Before, you know, when it was snowing, our van was still in the water, and it was icing up. We called it quits on that, but today—"

"—the fucker is out of the water and works just fine. I don't know who moved it," Brad says, "but  _fuck_."

"You're in my house," Jon coaxes, rubbing Ana's head. She won't stop staring at them.

Joy tugs on Tyler's hand. Tyler follows her out of the room.

"Your house was destroyed, so we, like, we just wanted to see if it was  _fixed_  yet—by Mother Nature or whatever." Mark shrugs. "We considered setting up a camera, doing a timelapse of the place, but as you now know, your house is fine."

Josh hears Jon say, "That's so fucking weird, don't ya think?" when he leaves the room. Three steps down the hall, and Josh bangs his shoulder into a doorjamb. An accident, but Tyler and Joy stare at him almost accusingly.

They're in another bedroom, this room bare. The one they were in before had a bed at least, a master bedroom, a large bed—maybe enough space for three people. This room, this room is smaller, void of furniture and love. Joy stands in the middle of it, shorts and a t-shirt, hair dark waves, gripping the black straps of her panda pack. The scar on her cheek is indistinguishable from her brown skin. "I want this as my room," she says, slowly, seeming to test out what it sounds like to have her own room. Judging by the look on her face, it tastes bittersweet.

"There's no bed," she goes on.

"That doesn't matter," Josh says, stopping Tyler in their tracks, their mouth open, their eyes foggy.

"Remember," Josh says, Tyler's lips trembling, "I have money."

*

Mark and Brad don't stay long. Seeing as how the residents have returned, they need not occupy the house any longer than necessary. They claim they were in the house in the first place to inspect it very closely. They claim the door was unlocked, and Jon believes them.

"That's okay, man." He's too friendly for his own good, but in a way, that's okay. Jon makes it okay. He makes it okay. "You have Tyler's number. Call us up anytime. We'll all be here."

From the window, they watch Brad and Mark leave. Josh hopes this won't be the last time he sees them.

"So…" Jon rubs his hands together. "We need to do some shopping."

"You guys can go," Josh says, before anyone can grow more excited. The last thing he wants is to ruin their fun. Starting their lives together, reverting to a state of domestic bliss, that should be exciting, that should make Josh excited. The closest he got to make a home with someone was his ex, that monster, and Josh never felt entirely safe there. There were nights where he was loved, and he didn't want to die when Adam lay next to him. However, those were rare. Josh anticipates the worst, anticipates the past repeating itself, and that isn't exciting. That shouldn't be exciting. They're gathered in the living room, Joy smiling with crooked teeth, Tyler with their hand in Joy's, and Jon always up for anything. They're ready. They're ready to go.

And Josh is trying his damnedest not to cry. "You go," he says, quieter. His throat hurts. "I'll stay here with Ana."

At her name, she raises her head from her paws. On Jon's coat, in the corner of the room, it's as if nothing has changed for her.

Tyler picks up on Josh's mood immediately. "We can go another time. Tomorrow. We can do this later."

"No," Josh says. "Joy needs a bed. Here—" Josh shoulders off his bag and hands it to Tyler. Reluctantly, Tyler takes it. Josh feels better with the weight off his back, but the relief is short-lived.

A glance up, Tyler takes the bag into the kitchen. They place it on a counter and dig inside. Clothes, towels, Tyler is a clown with a handkerchief rope that goes on and on and on and on—until Tyler gets to the cash at the bottom. They drop a clip. They kick it toward Jon, who picks it up for them. "Will we need all of this?" he asks.

"Probably not, but it doesn't hurt." Tyler has a fire in their eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Josh toes off his shoes, peels off his socks. "I'm good. Tired. Have extra fun for me."

Josh gives them his blessing, and yet they're all just  _standing_ there, watching him, unable to move a single muscle. From her corner, Ana snores.

Josh says, "I mean it. Go on. Have fun. I'll help when you come back. I won't leave." He speaks directly to Tyler. "I won't leave you."

As a joke, he adds, "I just got here."

Jon understands the joke because he's the only one who laughs, but just because he laughs doesn't mean he wants to go. He's as concerned as Tyler, and he presses the back of his hand to Josh's forehead. "You are a little warm. Pale. I would say going outside would do you some good, but sleeping is just as healing."

"Take off your binder," Tyler says, and passes the money to Jon. "Wait in the car." Without even a protest from Joy, they head out the house as Tyler heads toward Josh. They don't talk, not that they need to right now. Josh knows what they told him. He lets Tyler help ease their mind. Taking off his binder is second nature to Josh, although allowing Tyler to run their fingertips along his skin is as much a comfort to him as it is for them.

Once it's off, Tyler takes the seat next to Josh. As casual as possible, Tyler cups Josh's breast and asks, "Do you like wearing your binder?"

"No one fucking likes—"

"It was just a question," Tyler snaps, the quick response more loving than it implies. "We won't spend all the money. We weren't going to in the first place. I think hearing me say that, though, is good."

Josh stares at Tyler.

Tyler says, "We can put that money aside and start saving for your surgery, if you want."

Josh rubs his eyes. He turns his torso from Tyler. Tyler's hand drops to his lap. "That money should be put toward more important things. Joy. School. You're going back to school, right? I mean, you  _were_  training to be a vet."

"Yeah. Yeah, I… I did bartending at night, like you—I remembered—but… Yeah, I… I'm in my last year of veterinary school. I spent most of my time in clinics."

"Shit."

"After I finish that, I need to get licensed. And then, you know, residency and… all that. I don't want to bore you or, like, I don't want you to laugh at me."

Josh furrows his brow. "Why would I laugh at you? I think it's great that you're doing something like this, helping others. I have the bare minimum of an associate's degree from the community college, and you're really  _out_  there and, like—I'm really proud of you, Tyler. Hey, if Ana gets sick, we don't need to take her anywhere."

Nervously, Tyler laughs and scratches the back of their head. "Y-yeah, here's the thing. I'm a little scared of dogs, and sick dogs are even more unpredictable. So, I'm not… one of those vets."

Josh blinks. "What?"

"Horses," Tyler says. "I'm training to be an equine veterinarian."

"And I'm supposed to laugh… why?"

Tyler shrugs. "My mom laughed."

"I'm not your mom."

Chewing on their lip, picking at their nails, Tyler mumbles, "Yeah," and gets up from the couch. "The problem was I had to travel a lot—farms and such, and when I found Joy, I thought I wouldn't be able to finish my degree. But you're here, and Jon, too. And Jon's already pretty much a stay-at-home dad, so…" Tyler shrugs again and picks Josh's shirt off the floor.

"Everything's going to be okay."

Tyler pushes the t-shirt over Josh's head, smothering a smile from both themself and Josh. "I'll text you pictures of what we're thinking of getting. Keep your vibration on high and out of your pants."

Fixing his shirt, straightening it out with his palms, Josh rolls his eyes. "You're  _hilarious_."

"I love you. What's your ring size?"

Josh holds out his hand.

Tyler takes it and squeezes. They bring Josh's knuckles to their mouth to give the fourth one a kiss. "Thank you."

Josh searches for the TV remote while Tyler, Jon, and Joy back out of the driveway. Tyler honks, and Josh falls onto the couch. The cushions are just as suffocating as before.

*

Based on the pictures sent to his phone, Joy picks out a standard twin bed and two sets of sheets—one with dogs and the other robots. Josh sends Tyler his approval in the form of annoying emojis.

He plans to help assemble the furniture when they come home, but it's dark outside by the time Josh opens his eyes. It's dark outside, it smells soothing, and Tyler is in the chair next to the couch, next to Ana. And they lean forward, arms outstretched, and hand Josh a plate of food. Josh takes it wordlessly.

"You don't have to get up now if you don't want to, but when you get the energy to, you should see Joy's room."

"What else did you get her?" A commercial about deodorant plays. Josh spoons mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"A dresser, a desk, TV. Something to make it feel more like a room. I want her to like it here." Tyler watches Josh, picking at their nails even more. "Jon got his car back. Didn't cost a thing. Mechanic thought it got destroyed in the tornadoes."

"But it didn't."

"But it didn't."

"So, is everything back to normal out there? Stores open, people… out and about?"

"For the most part. We're thinking about going to Goodwill or something to get Joy some more clothes." Tyler sits on their hands. "Um, I… We drove around for a bit. About, like… maybe twenty or so minutes away, we found Joy's school. I guess we didn't stray too far after all. The billboard outside or whatever, y'know, said school would start back up after Easter. Is… Josh, has it only been a few months?"

"Feels longer than that."

At Josh's reassurance, Tyler wanders into the kitchen. Josh can hear the refrigerator open and close. "Did you want anything to drink?"

"Water's fine."

Tyler punches a glass into the ice machine.

Josh stabs at a chicken nugget and returns his attention to the TV. The last thing he remembers seeing is Joy's choice of bedspreads. He doesn't remember surfing through channels, but he supposes if there's any channel he would rather it be on, it'd be the news. As a kid, he never understood why his parents would succumb themselves to such depressing stories. Josh is grown now. He knows the depressing stories never stop, but when there's a light in the darkness, even if it might be nice weather in the forecast, he needs to grab it and never let it go because there's no guarantee that light would return.

Josh listens to Tyler pour water into a glass. It isn't from the tap.

This moment feels too surreal for Josh. He asks Tyler if he's floating when Tyler enters the room with the glass of water. Tyler stares at him, completely serious and completely grounded, and says, "If you're floating, then I'm floating with you."

"Who's the new president?" Josh points his fork at the TV, at the headline. "Isn't it that asshole's VP?"

"Nope," Tyler says, popping the  _p_. "Doing something different." The glass immediately decorates the coffee table with a ring of condensation.

"Who is it?"

"You know her name."

Josh can't breathe.

"Yeah," Tyler says, unable to wipe the smile from their face. "Joy couldn't stop crying either."

*

That night, tucked underneath a blanket made of pink plaid and a slapdash tower of pillows atop his head, Josh wakes to Joy shaking him. "Josh," she whispers. "Josh, you were screaming."

"No, I wasn't," he says. "Go back to sleep."

But he wakes again. Joy shakes him again. " _Josh_."

"I wasn't fucking screaming."

"Come with me."

They have an audience at the doorway. Jon isn't wearing a shirt. Tyler neglects pants, and they have their arm outstretched, palm up. "Come with me," they repeat.

Josh is stubborn. "I'm fine."

"Jon can sleep with her. I don't want you to—"

Josh is stubborn. He doesn't let Tyler finish. "Okay."

Switching places is harder than Josh could ever imagine. His body fights to stay awake once he crawls into bed with Tyler. This was Jon's bed, one he most likely shared with Ana, and it's comfortable—Josh can't lie about that. Compared to Joy's bed, this is a cloud, a boat in the shape of a pyre.

Tyler watches him. "What do you keep dreaming about?"

"I don't remember."

And it's the truth. He may have woken by hyperventilating and screaming, but his mind was blank. His head hurt. That was all.

Tyler believes him. "Next time you have a bad dream, could you tell me? I'm not a… masochist or anything, but I want you to tell me about it."

Josh nods. "Yeah."

Tyler's head on his chest, Josh sleeps soundly for the rest of the night.

*

In the morning, Tyler presses a kiss to Josh's neck. "Are you okay? Do you want to stay in bed a little more?"

"I shouldn't."

Tyler kisses Josh again. "You up for some shopping?"

True to Tyler's word, they stop at Goodwill and let Joy pick out whatever she wants. Mostly t-shirts, shorts, and the odd skirt or two, Joy chooses clothes that don't hide her prosthetic from wandering eyes, either because she wants people to see how proud she is or simply because it's hot and she can't bring herself to wear jeans. She picks out shoes, too, strappy sandals, slip-ons, shoes with flowers that closely resemble Tyler's vans. She smiles when she shows them to Tyler, eyes narrowed as if she and they were in on a secret.

Josh goes with Jon to a little bargain store next door. In here, they find a floor lamp for Joy's room. It looks vintage. Jon can't stop laughing at it.

"Hey," he says, low, as they wait by his car for Tyler and Joy to finish their respective shopping trip. "I've been hitting up some old friends, getting some information, y'know how it is. I've told them about our situation with Joy. I didn't go too in depth with the details. I just said, like—they know I'm poly—I said, 'hey, my partner found this kid at the park right after the fires stopped, and she was all alone, and her parents died, and so we've all been taking care of her. So, like, the crazy weather seems to be gone, so what do we do with her?' They were super fucking supportive; they all think we have a good chance of actually getting guardianship."

Josh smiles. "You think so?"

"Yeah! I mean, we totally gotta do something really soon. Sooner the better and all that shit, don't you think?"

"Should we try for guardianship or adoption?"

Jon thinks for a moment. "Guardianship first, and then we can shoot for adoption."

"I'm scared they're going to stick her in a foster home somewhere. I know Tyler's worried about that. If they lose her… it's going to crush them."

"That's not going to happen."

Joy races to the car. She throws a teddy bear at Jon's face. Josh can smell the disinfectant and lavender scent wafting off it from here. "Do you like it?!" Joy puts her hands on her hips. "Mommy said, 'Oh, that's your papa!' And then, I was, like, 'Papa's a bear?' And Mommy turned red, and I made them buy it for me because it made them embarrassed."

"You're so nice." Jon holds the bear in his hands, looking into its black eyes. "I'm not hairy enough to be a bear."

"What?"

Tyler says, "Let's get milkshakes!"

Josh thinks this is the happiest Tyler has ever been.

*

For the second night in a row, Josh screams, and Joy shakes. Josh accepts the outcome right away.

Jon takes his spot. Tyler is in the hallway. "Come with me," they say, and Josh takes Tyler's hand.

Back in bed, Tyler's head on his chest, Tyler's voice on his heart, Josh pets Tyler's hair. Short strands, oily strands, they shouldn't tangle, but Josh gets his fingers caught. "I remember my dream."

Tyler rubs their thumb along Josh's hip. "Tell me about it."

Talking about it ensures Josh not to forget about it. Whenever he has a bad dream, first thing he wants to do is forget about it. He never talks about it. Tonight, he talks about it. Tyler looks at him with big eyes, and Josh talks about it.

"I used to dream about Adam killing me. He would mock me during it. It was always quick. I would wake up as soon as I died. This… I didn't this time. And it wasn't by Adam's hand. I… It was… We froze to death."

"'We'?" Tyler slides their hand up Josh's shirt and curves their fingers around Josh's ribs.

"You and me. I knew it wasn't real, but it still scared the hell out of me."

"Where were we?"

"A fucking pharmacy. We were behind the counters. Have you ever tried to lucid dream?"

Quiet for a moment, thinking, fingers drawing shapes in Josh's skin, Tyler says, "I know what it does to a person."

"It was like that. Could only move my eyes. I just… stared at you."

"Did I look good?"

Josh stretches his arm above his head, Tyler's hand moving to his armpit. "Even with icicles hanging from your nose."

"Thought so. Anything else?"

"No."

"Thank you for telling me."

By morning, Josh forgets about waking. He forgets why he wakes next to Tyler. Tyler smiles at him and kisses his cheek. Tyler smiles. Tyler smiles so wide and so bright.

*

To Jon, Tyler says, "Come with me. Josh said he'll watch Joy."

To Joy, Tyler says, "Behave."

And to Josh, Tyler only smiles.

Josh and Joy frequent the basement. Sat at Jon's desktop computer and marveling the money put into the setup before them, Joy in his lap, Josh says, "Do you know where your mom's going?"

Joy clicks around on the screen, head propped with her hand. Prosthetic left on the futon, Joy swings her leg and kicks Josh's shin with her heel. "Why do parents do that?  _Your mom_  this,  _your dad_  that—it's like they never want to claim responsibility for their own relationship with their child or spouse."

Josh chews on the inside of his cheek. "Sorry. Do you know where my partner's going?"

"Don't say 'partner'. We aren't cowboys."

"We could be."

Joy finds a game to play, something about an alien stacking sandwiches. "They're going, like… I don't know where they're going, but they're getting paperwork. Jon's showing them the way, I guess."

Careful, as to not disturb her game, Josh wraps his arms around Joy's torso. He places his head on top of hers, her braids pressing into Josh's cheek. "We're going to do our best to keep you with us, Joy."

"I'm not worried about it." She finds a different game, this one about filling orders at a restaurant. The player character looks like a naked mole rat.

"You must be worried about something."

"Bleeding through my pants."

Josh holds Joy just a little tighter. "Want a heating pad?"

"Not right now. Maybe later." Joy gets onto a new website and plays a game of volleyball with blue and red monkeys.

"Get off that game," Josh says, "and let's go to the park."

A pro at maintaining a proper balance as she waits for Josh to strap on her leg, Joy is quiet. Her face is screwed up, deep in thought. She keeps it to herself, only speaking up when Josh asks if she wants to bring a water bottle with them.

"We're not going to be that far from the house." She pauses. " _Our_ house."

Hand in hand, Ana with them, leading them, leash around her neck, they aren't the sole visitors at the small park attached to the pond. Parents are here, sitting on benches and watching their kids climb on jungle gyms and obstacle sets. Once a swamp, complete with an overprotective goose, the park wasn't safe for anyone. It's okay now. Ana doesn't want to explore. She sits where Josh tells her to sit. Joy swings next to a little girl who won't stop looking at her leg.

Josh can read the venom on Joy's face. Before she spits, the girl mumbles, "Your leg is really cool."

Joy smiles. "Thanks."

"Is that your daughter?" On the other end of the bench, a mom bounces her leg and nods toward the swing set. She chews gum. It's as if this is normal. It's as if Joy has just returned from school, and her daddy thought it was too nice of a day to spend inside.  _Let's go to the park_.

Wringing Ana's leash in his hands, Josh takes too long to answer. "I… She's as good as," he finally says, and worries he might scare off the young mother to his left.

She isn't scared. She isn't worried. There are lines on her face, and she understands. "You're taking care of her, right? She's your daughter. Blood doesn't matter."

"I know it doesn't. It's just… Her real parents are dead."

"Oh."

Josh closes his eyes. Ana butts her head into his knee.

"Hang in there," the mom says, offers Josh a thigh pat, and stands to grab her son's hand while he climbs from the jungle gym.

A brief moment is all Josh has to himself before Joy forces him to open his eyes. She's running toward him, pale in the face, her teeth dug into her bottom lip. "Daddy," she says, voice high, eyes shining. "Daddy, I hurt myself."

"What the fuck are you talking about? What happened?"

Rather dramatically, topped off with an arm flourish and an eye roll, Joy falls onto the bench next to him and says, "I'm missing a leg."

Josh frowns.

Joy snickers, swiping away fake tears and fast breaths. "I never said  _when_ I hurt myself."

"What a comedian."

"I thought expressing something other than utter depression would be, y'know, beneficial to your health."

"A comedian and a good samaritan."

"What do you think happens to us when we die?"

Ana quirks her head at the question. Josh rubs behind her ears. "I don't know."

"I don't know either. Do you think it's possible we can choose our own ending? There can't be one right answer to that question. I believe if you believe something is going to happen, then that something will happen to you. We should be allowed to choose what happens to us."

"Anything can happen," Josh says.

"But is the world ever that kind?" Joy furrows her brow. "Karma's a bitch, I know, but do good things ever really happen to good people? Are we allowed to have good things? Are we entitled to good things simply because we believe we are entitled to them?"

"Why are you talking like this?"

"Because I'm cramping, and I want you to carry me home."

"I'll try to find a heating pad for you. If not, I'll text Mommy. How's that sound?"

"You're still carrying me, though, yeah?" She raises an eyebrow, not wanting to move from the bench until it becomes necessary.

Josh admires her stubbornness. "How about a piggyback ride?"

She agrees.

*

Brendon texts Josh a link to an online forum, with a message that reads,  _The government just released the official death toll from the disasters. It seems it all checks out. Who'd have thought we'd get a competent president?_

Josh sends back,  _Yeah_ , and buries his face in his arms as he returns to sleeping on the sofa.

*

By the time Tyler and Jon come home, Joy doesn't need the heating pad they purchased from Walmart. Almost in a form of betrayal, Tyler stands in the doorway, box in their arms, a pinched face and Jon by their side. He tugs on Tyler's shirt, all in good fun. "You can give it to her if she needs it. No one is going to take that from you."

Reluctantly, acting as if this is the worst thing that could possibly happen to them, Tyler takes the box with them, hugging it close to their chest, on their way into the kitchen. Josh watches them from the table. His gaze drops to his hand and the shaking pen in it. Tyler sits across from him. Jon pokes around in the cabinets.

"So, everything  _is_  okay? I need to fill out co-guardianship papers, and then we're okay?"

"We're going to try and go to her parents' house tomorrow," Tyler says. "I need her social security number. Plus, we can, like… loot the place."

"Tyler," Josh says.

"Do you want to come with us?" Tyler asks. "It's okay if you don't want to come."

"Is it?"

"It is to me."

Josh clicks the pen. "Can I do this later?"

Despite the light flickering from Tyler's eyes, Jon steps in and says, "I'm waiting to do mine tomorrow or the day after. We can do it together then." He opens a bag of potato chips.

"Tomorrow." Josh nods. Tyler scratches the sides of the heating pad box, an absent gesture. "Tomorrow sounds good."

*

As a precaution, Josh sleeps with Tyler for a third night in a row. It isn't agreed upon by anyone, rather it's expected when the sun goes down.

Jon kisses each of them and disappears into Joy's room. He has a pillow and blanket under his arm. Ana follows.

In the bedroom, Tyler says, "I can be the big spoon."

In the bed, Tyler says, "Wait, let's fuck first."

Vulgar, no regards to the crack in the bedroom door or the possibility Joy may wake in excruciating pain, Tyler says, "I have a toy that lets us fuck each other at the same time."

"Does it use batteries?" Josh teases, earning a shove and a smile from Tyler.

"Shut up, dude."

Fingers sticking under the waistband of his boxers, Josh rocks from side to side to watch Tyler leave the bed, pull off their shirt, and dig inside the bottom drawer of a dresser. Upon moving in, Jon gave them permission to use his dresser, his closet, and he volunteered to purchase a wardrobe for more storage space, if needed. They declined the offer. They don't have a lot. Josh hasn't seen his old apartment since he ran away.

"Here." The bed gives at Tyler climbing. Held in both hands, they show Josh the dildo. A double-ended toy, Josh scans it with narrowed eyes and pressed-together lips. "I haven't used it yet." Tyler leans to the right and takes a box of condoms from the nightstand. Josh doesn't recognize them. It must be Jon's personal stash.

Tyler rolls condoms on both ends. Josh finishes undressing.

"Hey," Josh says, lying back and spreading his legs.

"Hey," Tyler says. Cock in their fist, they bring their free hand between Josh's legs and comb their fingers through Josh's pubic hair. Neither Josh nor Tyler laugh at Tyler fumbling to find Josh's clit.

"What do you think happens to us when we die?"

"I hope I can see my old betta fish and apologize for my brother taking him over to the neighbor's house to fight their betta fish."

Josh touches Tyler's cheek, fuzz, more than fuzz, a patch of dark hair. Tyler needs to shave. Josh kisses Tyler's mouth. "I hope you see him, too."

Tyler remains on top, straddling Josh's hips. They can't move too much; the toy is liable to slip out of them. More rocking, more grinding, Tyler whispers, "Fuck me, fuck me—yeah, right there." Tyler whispers, "You make me feel so good." Tyler whispers, "I love you."

Tyler whispers, "Please don't leave me."

Josh whispers, "I won't."

*

Around the same time as Tyler cries at the sheet of paper in their hands, sentimental in both words and imagery of a tiny, inked footprint, Josh cries into his hands, amazed at the concept of a bus taking him wherever he needs to go, as long as his destination is en route.

It isn't, so Josh has to run the rest of the way.

He remembers not to wear his binder.

*

Josh considered texting Jon, or maybe Tyler, about Ana before venturing outside, but he left fresh food and water in her bowl, and the back door has a doggy entrance.

Ana couldn't bother to raise her head from her paws to acknowledge Josh's goodbye. "I'll not be gone long," he told her, and she snored.

The consideration to tell Jon he would be leaving his dog in a house by herself, no matter she might be spooked and unable to adapt to being alone after being with a large party for so long, is brief, and Josh thinks counterproductive. To tell Jon that would make them rush home. Josh's trip won't take long. He'll be back before anyone realizes he's gone.

Josh slows to a walk once he passes the bakery near his old apartment complex. Lights on inside, business booming, the graffiti scrubbed off, Josh finds it almost hard to believe he was once crawling on that floor and pulling a box of donuts into his lap to devour until his stomach hurt. A moment passes, where he stands in front of the door and wonders if he should go inside and pay for those donuts. He has money in his bag. Out of habit, he stuck Adam's knife in his sock—slinging it through his belt loop would be too obvious. He thinks about taking out the knife and twisting it into a stranger's arm.

He's on edge the rest of the walk to his apartment. Jumping at noises, shooting glares left and right, Josh isn't wanted here, but he keeps walking. Maybe another step will make him feel safe. Maybe another step will make him feel okay.

The front doors are clear of any wreckage and dead bodies. A woman, who Josh can only assume is the new landlord, greets him upon entry. "I don't think I've seen you around," she says.

"I lived here before… y'know."

She doesn't kick him out. She doesn't ask him what happened. She understands. She knows, and she says, "Do you need help with moving? I'm assuming you're here because you're moving out."

Josh wanted to grab his clothes. He wanted to fill his backpack until it threatened to burst.

Josh wants to be alone.

"I am moving out, yeah," he says. "I'm good, though. I'll call or something if I need help."

"Do you have a key?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I still have my old one."

"Turn it in when you're finished. Sign some papers. Make it official."

"I will."

"Don't bother with cleaning. I'll do it myself. Hire somebody. Just grab what you need, doll."

Josh rides the elevator. He imagines the lights flickering off. He imagines the machine's cable breaking and falling, falling.

Josh's apartment unit smells stale. Furniture overturned, the television set broken, and leftover drug paraphernalia on the carpet of his bedroom, Josh remembers who he had left his apartment to when he ran. The men must have stayed for a few days, a week at most. Dust lines every surface. Josh leaves the front door open to get some fresh air circulating.

He sets his bag on his bed. The covers are disturbed, cold. Josh wasn't the last person to use them.

He's folding some t-shirts when he hears a knock on his front door. The person is already inside the living room, walking without an invitation. Their footsteps light, their voice lighter, they're familiar. She's familiar. She isn't the landlord. She's a neighbor, an old neighbor, and she stands in the doorway. In a skirt, red on her cheeks, part in her lips, she stares at Josh, shaking. She's shaking. Josh is shaking. Josh remembers watching her pull a gun from a holster on her thigh and blow a man's brains from his skull.

"I thought you were dead," she says.

"I'm not."

"I came back. You were gone. I… I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to let you know it's not safer out there."

"I found out for myself. It's not all bad."

She walks again, walks into his room. She helps fold clothes. "Who did you meet?" she asks.

Josh smiles.

She smiles with him. "In that case, I won't ask if you want to fuck."

A minute longer, just enough to ease her mind, she snakes her arms around Josh's torso. She hangs on. She says, "I used to have dreams about my mom poisoning me. I don't get them anymore."

Josh doesn't have dreams about Adam killing him anymore.

He hugs her.

And then, she's gone, and Josh tops his bag off with socks. He notices the tears on his cheeks as they land on the backs of his hands. He falls to his knees, the knife dangerously close to scraping the top layer of skin off his ankle. Josh soaks his palms. He cries until his eyes sting. He cries until he thinks it's rational to call his mom while doing so.

She picks up on the first ring, and Josh cries harder.

"Baby?" she goes, and Josh tries to stop. He does. He really does.

"Mom," he says, nose running. "It's good to hear your voice."

"Are you okay?" She asks this once. She asks this twice. "Jordan said you texted him. Jordan said you were okay."

Josh takes the knife from his sock. Still dirty with blood, with simple wear and tear, Josh stares at the weapon and carefully sets it beside him on the carpet. "I am okay," he tells his mom, pulling the knife back and sliding it forward, letting it go, watching it, watching it slide across the carpet and hide under the bed. He hears it hit the wall.

"I'm okay, Mom. I'm okay now."

*

Josh turns in his key to the landlord. Like Tyler, Josh leaves what furniture is left in the apartment to the next lonely person wanting their first chance of living by themself. He did his best when it came to fixing what had been ruined.

"You lived in that unit, huh? I was about to call someone to go in there and check it out, see if the tenant was lying in there dead. It's good to see you're okay."

"Thank you."

*

Damp from a shower, a pillow to his chest, Josh wakes with drool on his face. Jon is the first one through the door, Joy after him. Both have their arms full of stuffed animals Joy stuck in the backseat of Jon's car when she thought no one was looking.

Tyler comes in next. They don't say anything. They have everything they need, and then some.

"On the table," Josh says, "I filled out those papers. Looks like Jon needs to step up his game."

There's a new charm on Tyler's bracelet. From here, it looks like a skull.

Tyler says, "Looks like he does."

*

Jon, Josh, and Tyler spend the night in their bed. Tyler passes around Joy's birth certificate and a photo album. "Even if her parents were abusive assholes, I thought she'd want to keep some pictures of them."

Joys of all ages smile with round cheeks and black holes for eyes.

Tyler tears up, Jon breaks down, and Josh ties it all together.

*

In the morning, before anybody else wakes, Tyler drives to drop off the paperwork.

Josh catches Tyler lifting the bed covers.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"I don't know," they say.

No one talks about it.

They wake, they live, they sleep.

Joy takes more of an interest in Jon's animating. When Jon gets comfortable enough, he shows her—and Tyler and Josh, too—his music. They dance, more energy in their limbs than ever before. And Tyler even joins Jon, plucking the strings on their ukulele and singing proud words.

During a dinner of grilled cheese, soup, and thunderclouds in the distance, Josh's boss calls him. Without a word or a glance, Tyler follows Josh through the house. Tyler keeps trying to touch him, their fingertips like spiders as they roam his shoulder blades.

Instead of a "hello" in return, his boss says, "Oh, thank God, you're alive. You're the first person I called who picked up and…"

His destination is the basement. Josh stands by the futon, Tyler behind him, still behind him. "Yeah, of course. Yeah, I… Do you still need me?" Josh closes his eyes. "I mean, I'll come in tonight—this evening."

"We're supposed to go back to normal."

"Right." Josh welcomes Tyler's hands turning him around, Tyler's hands on his chest, Tyler's hands on his face.

"I'll raise your pay."

"I'll be there."

Trembling lips, Tyler kisses Josh. Josh wants to ask, but he doesn't.

He goes to work most late evenings and comes home most early mornings. Not full time, not yet, Josh serves the survivors and the broken. Story time never ends. Secrets spill. Josh's whispers are of magic, of tales he swears strange travelers spoke.

"And the body was gone when the snow melted."

Tyler's boss doesn't call. Assuming the worst is the best course of action in situations like this.

Instead of work, Tyler focuses on school. Jon's location is a godsend. Tyler—and Josh when Tyler told him—wasn't aware of the farms nearby. If it isn't too far, Tyler brings Joy with them for the day. Always, Joy and her mommy come home dirty, sore, exhausted, and sporting matching grins and dimples.

"I really like it here," Joy says, after taking Ana for a walk with Jon.

Tyler cries themself to sleep, muffled in Josh's chest that night and Jon's that morning.

*

It's almost Easter.

*

One day, on a day Josh doesn't need to prepare for work that night, on a day Jon spends more outside than inside with Joy, Tyler is more pale than dark. Tyler is more anxious than calm. Tyler is exiting the bathroom, towel around their shoulders, forgetting about the shower running, and tossing their phone on the kitchen table. Tyler is tugging on Josh's hand and saying, "Josh, I need to tell you something."

Tyler takes him to the front yard, where they sit on the doorstep and keep an eye on Jon, Ana, and Joy running in the field of flowers. The sun behind them mimics halos. Josh thinks the sight is wonderful.

"What's up?"

Tyler won't look at Josh. They swipe the towel from their shoulders, rubbing any stray hair from their face, and pitches it behind them. It sails.

Tyler says, "I've been looking up surgeons for you."

"Found any good ones? We could compare notes."

Tyler licks their lips. "Yeah."

Josh says, "What's wrong, Tyler?"

"I don't know how to… I don't know what to…"

"Tyler—"

"Gimme your hand."

Quickly, alarming Tyler for a moment, Josh slips in an apology as Tyler reaches forward to take Josh's hand. Tyler flinched, and Josh hates himself. "I'm sorry," he says again. He wants to bury his face in Tyler's neck, in the collar of Tyler's "they" shirt.

"It's okay," they whisper.

"Here," they say louder, and shift their weight to the side to draw something from their pocket.

Josh's hand in one, a black band in the other, Tyler says, "Bigamy is illegal, but there's nothing stopping us from wearing matching rings."

Josh blinks.

Tyler frowns. "Dude."

"No, dude, like…" Josh laughs. " _Dude_."

Tyler laughs. "Cool."

Josh stays as still as possible, letting Tyler display the ring in its rightful place.

Josh frowns this time. "Where's your charm bracelet?"

Tyler ignores him. "I'm going to put mine on when we go inside. Jon, too. He was there when I bought them, helped me pick them out. He was okay with me giving you your ring first."

"Tyler," Josh presses, "where's your bracelet?"

Hard, unyielding, Tyler holds Josh's hand, squeezes Josh's hand, and raises their head to look ahead. "I gave it to her." Shiny cheeks, head tilting toward the sun, they repeat, "I let her have it. Did I leave the shower on?"

A hole in his lip, Josh yanks away his hand, but Tyler doesn't let go.

"Do you remember asking me how I wanted this to end?" They loosen their grip, their voice softer, their eyes on Joy. "'I want to be happy,' I said. I said, 'I want us to have a life together.'"

Jon lifts Joy and spins her. Her laughter is enchanting. Ana bounces around them.

"'The world doesn't work like that,'" Josh says. "You told me  _that_."

Shoulders slowly raising and slowly falling, a deep breath, Tyler leans in. Tyler kisses the curve of Josh's ear. "Don't tell anyone this," Tyler whispers, a ghost, "but sometimes I'm full of shit."

Tyler finally lets go of Josh's hand. They're more dark than pale. They're more calm than anxious. "Come on," they say, dusting themself upon standing, "we can take a shower together. Might even help shave your beard, too."

Hand on the doorjamb, Josh's hair in the other, Tyler doesn't know how to stop smiling. They stay there, passing their fingers through Josh's hair. A curl here and a curl there, Tyler uses the crown of Josh's head as a form of balance as they crouch, as they press their knees to Josh's arm, as they say, with benediction, "We're allowed to have this."

The cicadas sing. The sun shines.

Josh stares at Tyler, at their playful eyes. "The world doesn't work like that," he teases.

Tyler sends their fist into Josh's bicep. "This time, it did. Now, get up. The water's probably cold by now."

"Hey," Josh says, and grabs Tyler's hand. He holds it, and Tyler smiles, leaning in, their forehead to Josh's shoulder.

"Hey," Josh says, whispering now, as he turns to kiss the top of Tyler's head.

"Everything will be okay," he says.

Tyler laughs. "Everything's already okay. It's okay. Everything's  _more_  than okay."

Tyler kisses him.

With tears in their eyes, Tyler says, "Thank you, Josh."

And they go inside, running. Smiling, over their shoulder, Tyler's running. They're running.

And Josh follows.

**Author's Note:**

> [carolyn](https://www.instagram.com/42caramel/) drew [joy](https://instagram.com/p/BYWlLLOAZIF/)!!! she's so cute


End file.
